


Estates & Enchantment

by violet_storms



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Ballroom Dancing, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Historical, Love Confessions, Magical Inheritance, Marriage of Convenience, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28539663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_storms/pseuds/violet_storms
Summary: When Hermione Granger unexpectedly inherits her estranged father’s estate, she is thrust headfirst into the world of high society. With absolutely no preparation, she must learn to navigate social engagements, etiquette lessons, and even marriage contracts—and as if that wasn’t complicated enough, she’s starting to suspect there’s more to these people than meets the eye.Luckily, she’s made a good friend to help her through it...but little does she know that her feelings for Ginny Weasley may prove to be the most difficult thing of them all.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter (minor), Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	1. An Epistle

When Hermione Granger first caught sight of the letter that would change her life, it was sitting innocently on her dining room table. She made the following observations about it in quick succession:

1\. The letter had arrived suddenly (but then again, most letters do).

2\. It was sealed with bright red wax.

3\. It bore an address, but not a return address.

4\. Apart from that, it appeared to be the most ordinary epistle.

However, upon closer inspection, it became clear that this particular letter was quite different from any other Hermione had received in her life. She drew this conclusion after noting that:

1\. She had not been expecting a letter. In fact, she never expected letters, as there was no one she could think of who would write to her.

2\. The stamp imprinted on the wax seal was completely unfamiliar to her.

3\. The writing visible on the letter had been done in the fanciest calligraphy she had ever seen.

4\. Most importantly of all, instead of the letter being addressed simply to "Hermione Granger," it read "The Lady Hermione Granger of Gryffindor."

It was a curious letter indeed, and, as with most curious things she'd encountered, Hermione was instantly intrigued by it. Holding the letter carefully in her hands, she noted that the envelope was cream-colored and the paper thick, far better stock than her family could afford. Briefly, she considered whether it had been addressed to the wrong person, but dismissed this thought—the odds that there was another Hermione Granger living in Eastworth were slim to none.

This left only a few possibilities for the letter's contents, and Hermione thought it would be best to bring them to her parents immediately. So, holding the letter gently and slightly away from her body as if it were a bomb that might go off at any moment, she entered the drawing-room and declared, "I think we may be rich."

"Oh dear," said her mother, looking up from her embroidery. "Are you feeling ill, Hermione?"

"I do believe she's having a—what do they call them? A flight of fancy," said her father. "Get over it quickly, my dear. If you're not well in the head, I don't know what will happen to this family."

"Very funny," said Hermione dryly. "I'm serious. Do we have any rich cousins who have recently passed away?"

"Well, my father's uncle's second wife was the widow of a viscount," said her mother. "I think. It may have been his third. They're all dead now, of course, so it's not worth mentioning."

"Then why did you mention it?" Hermione asked. Her mother shrugged. Her father glanced up from his newspaper.

"I believe I have a removed cousin who is titled," he said. "The relationship is distant, he's the half-brother of my mother's cousin or something of the kind. I've never met the man. Why do you ask? And how does this relate to our sudden and mysterious windfall?"

"Look at this," said Hermione, ignoring his sarcasm. She offered the letter to her mother, who waved it toward her father, who shook his head and said, "I don't have my reading glasses." Sighing, Hermione drew the letter back and read the address aloud.

Now her parents looked interested. "I don't suppose they have the wrong Hermione Granger?" said her mother.

"Doubtful," replied Hermione. "Considering we're the only Grangers in the area, and taking into account the rather ridiculous name you gave me."

"It's a lovely name," said her father, offended. Hermione made a face.

"Well, do open it, dear," said her mother. "Now you've got me curious."

"What if it's a joke?" Hermione asked. "Or some kind of scam?"

"In that case, at least it should be entertaining," pointed out her father. "Go on—open it."

So Hermione carefully broke the seal and extracted two leaves of paper from within the envelope. One was very thick and printed in an official-looking type. The other was handwritten in a neat, precise hand. It was the latter Hermione elected to read aloud first.

_" 'My dear Lady Hermione,_

_I am sure this will come as something of a shock to you, and although we have never met, my heart goes out to you in sympathy. I have asked the solicitors to allow me to send this note along with all the legal nonsense they're required to give you. I hope it will help to soften the blow, and allow you to make sense of all that is about to happen._

_There is no easy way to inform you of this, as I do not know how much your foster parents have told you, or how much they themselves know. Suffice it to say that you were born into a much higher station than you currently occupy. Your father, my late brother-in-law, was Irving McGonagall, the earl of Gryffindor._

_I do not know how to put this in delicate terms, so I shall not. Your mother was the daughter of a baronet, an old friend of the family. She and your father loved each other, but were forbidden to marry, for she was of low station and he was promised to another. You were the result of their love. When your mother's situation was discovered, she was cast out by her family. Your father arranged for her to be taken away to the country, but she sadly perished in childbirth with you._

_Hermione, from the moment your father found out the news of her death, he was a deeply changed man. I cannot claim to know his heart, or his reasoning for not raising you, only tell you that I believe he did love you—loved you too much to bring you into the life he so despised. After your mother's death, you were given to the Grangers to raise, for they were already living in the country and are distant relations to your father. As I understand it, they were not aware of the full extent of your heritage._

_Your father broke his engagement with the woman he was promised to and broke ties with most of his family, except for his younger brother, my husband. When Lachlan died last year, he became even more reticent, and eventually took on a dreadful illness. Earlier this month, I am sorry to say he passed away. None of us were aware of this at the time, but your father had been keeping track of your whereabouts during the later years of his life, and now he has left the entirety of his estate, Hogwarts, along with his titles and wealth, to you._

_There are many legal ramifications to this, and I shall explain to them as soon as you arrive—for you must arrive. I realize this is sure to upend your life, and that you may not desire to leave your foster family, and for this, I cannot blame you. Of course, you do have the option to turn all this away and go on living your life, and indeed, there are some who I know would hope for nothing less than this outcome. Still, I hope that in the memory of your mother, and according to the wishes of your father, you will consent to come here and see what is to be made of things. I cannot promise that it will always be pleasant, but it is sure to be interesting._

_They're sending a coach for you. With fondest wishes that you will board it -_

_Your aunt, Minerva McGonagall._

_P.S. - Your mother's name was Malina.' "_

By the end of reading the letter aloud, Hermione's voice had tapered almost to a whisper. Now, lowering the paper to meet her parents' shocked gazes, she found that for the first time in her life she could remember, she was totally and completely speechless.

  


The coach was cold and drafty, and Hermione drew her shawl closer around her shoulders as the carriage rocked and rolled along the country roads. The awkward-looking solicitor who had accompanied the coach was huddled in the corner, giving a muffled cough every now and then and purposefully not meeting her eyes. Hermione suppressed a sigh. She had been assured that it was only a day's ride to Hogwarts Estate, but she was sure it was going to be the longest day of her life.

As she shivered beneath the thin fabric of her shawl, Hermione's thoughts wandered back to only a few hours earlier, when she had bid farewell to her parents. They had been weeping as she rode away, and Hermione kept expecting for the sadness to hit her as well, but so far nothing had come. She supposed she was still in shock, and that the homesickness would come into effect by the time they reached her estate. That seemed a reasonable assumption, but as Hermione had never been away from home in her life, she had nothing to compare it to.

 _Her_ estate. It still didn't seem real. Technically speaking, it wasn't, not yet. From what Hermione could gather, the legality of her father's will was still up in the air, and the solicitor had hinted that her stay at the estate might be very short indeed if it were to be declared invalid. That was why her parents had not come with her—they couldn't afford to leave their jobs for such an uncertain thing. If everything worked out, they could come along and live with her, and if not, she would return home and everything would go back to normal.

Only not _exactly_ normal.

Hermione had always known that her parents were not hers by birth, but it had never seemed quite so _real_ as when she'd finished reading that letter aloud. "We didn't know the full story," her father had promised her. "Truly, we had no idea. We wanted a child so badly that when my great-aunt told us she had a ward in need of a home, we didn't ask any questions."

"We would never have kept something like this from you," her mother had added. "And we would never take this from you now. Hermione, you have the opportunity to live a much greater life than we could have given you, and it's our wish that you take it."

And although her common sense was screaming at her that she had never lived away from home, that she had no idea how to function in high society, that in leaving she would be discarding the entire future she'd so carefully planned for herself—Hermione had opened her mouth and said, "I will."

"Madam," said the solicitor now. Hermione glanced at him, surprised to hear him addressing her for the first time. He coughed again, and then corrected himself. "I mean, my lady. I mean, miss? I mean—that is—"

"Please call me Hermione," said Hermione kindly.

"I don't think I can," said the solicitor uncomfortably.

"Of course you can," said Hermione. "Here, tell me your name."

"It's Longbottom. Er, Neville Longbottom."

"All right. You're Neville Longbottom, and I'm Hermione Granger. You're a solicitor, and I'm an heiress-in-question. You like toads, and I like cats. There, we're clearly well acquainted, so you _must_ call me Hermione. Or at least Lady Hermione, if I am to be a lady after all."

"I'm not a solicitor, really," said Mr. Longbottom with a reluctant smile. "I'm more of a junior partner. It was my dad's business. And how did you know I liked toads?"

"There's one embroidered on your handkerchief," Hermione pointed out.

"Oh, right." Mr. Longbottom seemed surprised to see it there. He coughed into it again, as though for good measure, then gestured toward the carriage window. "I was going to tell you—you might want to have a look."

Curious, Hermione opened the shutters and peered out over the fields. Then she gasped. "Is that— _it?"_

"That's it," said Mr. Longbottom, as the coach clattered to a gentle stop before the beautiful, sweeping manor. "Ma'am—Miss Granger— _Lady Hermione_...welcome to Hogwarts Estate."


	2. An Entrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McGonagall explains what's what, and Hermione makes an interesting acquaintance.

As Hermione stood before her father's commanding estate, with everything she owned in the world in suitcases at her feet and her previously certain future in coils on the floor, she felt the distinct and immediate urge to _run._

 _What in the world have I gotten myself into?_ she wondered. _And is it too late to turn around and go back?_

"Are you going to faint?" inquired Mr. Longbottom, looking concerned. "You look like you're possibly going to faint."

"I don't think I am, but please be prepared just in case," said Hermione. Mr. Longbottom nodded seriously, and Hermione was about to tell him she was only joking before the manor's grand doors swung open and a tall, stately woman emerged.

"Mrs. McGonagall!" said Mr. Longbottom, falling into a half-bow at once. Hermione, meanwhile, stood frozen in place. Belatedly, she realized she should perhaps be making some sign of deference as well, but most of her brain was occupied by the sight of her aunt; she wasn't sure whether to be delighted or terrified.

"Hello, my dear," said her aunt. Her hair was neat and greying, pulled back into a tight bun against her head. She had small, fierce eyes, and the way she carried herself impressed upon Hermione a sensation of dignity and seriousness. But her smile when she looked at Hermione was compassionate, and Hermione remembered the kind words in the letter and felt comforted.

"My lady aunt," she said. "I am so happy to finally meet you."

"I as well," said her aunt. "Mr. Longbottom, get yourself out of that pose at once, you look ridiculous."

"Sorry," said Mr. Longbottom, quickly straightening up.

"Do come inside," said her aunt. "Mr. Longbottom, carry her suitcases. You must be good for something other than legal waffling and coughing."

"Yes, madam," said Mr. Longbottom. Hermione suppressed a giggle.

"Well, come along, child," said her aunt, waving her forward. Hermione hesitated for only a second. Then, heart beating quickly in her chest, she hurried up the stairs and ducked through the open doors of the manor.

The entryway was simple but beautiful. The walls, instead of being covered by fading, chipped wallpaper like in her old home, wore a shining coat of pale pink paint. The candlesticks were tall and made from fresh wax. Except for the flowers wilting in a nearby vase, the whole place gave off an aura of brilliancy the likes of which Hermione had never experienced before.

"Aren't you going to come into the drawing-room?" said her aunt, looking amused at Hermione's wide-eyed expression.

"Oh! Yes, of course," said Hermione, blushing slightly, and tried her best not to marvel at the sheer opulence of the manor as her aunt led her down the hall. When they reached the parlour, her aunt directed her to a chair before the fire and gave Mr. Longbottom sharp instructions of exactly where to take her trunks. Then she seated herself in a chair across from Hermione and smiled at her. Hermione smiled back and made her best effort not to fidget.

"You've caused quite a stir, you know," said her aunt.

"Have I?" asked Hermione anxiously.

"Well, not you per se. Your father." Her aunt shook her head, sighing. "I suppose Mr. Longbottom didn't explain much to you?"

"Nothing," said Hermione. "I don't think he knew anything to explain."

"To be honest, my dear, neither do I," said her aunt. "It's tricky, what Irving has done. Technically, since you are his daughter and only heir, you would be eligible for the inheritance, were it not the matter of your...illegitimacy."

"Yes, I imagine that would be a problem," said Hermione. Her aunt laughed quietly.

"The family solicitors are flummoxed, to be frank. It was Irving's clear wish that you inherit Hogwarts, he put that in no uncertain terms, but the laws surrounding this whole business are unclear. You are a woman, and unattached, so it does seem—" her aunt hesitated. "It does seem that, if you were married, you would be able to keep the estate and titles you are owed with far less fuss."

"Married," Hermione repeated.

"Yes," said her aunt. Suddenly, she leaned forward and took Hermione's hands in her own. "My dear, I know this must be a great deal for you to cope with all at once. A marriage contract is only a possibility, and a distant one at that, and you shall _not_ be forced into one if I have anything to say about it." She looked concerned, and Hermione felt a rush of affection for her.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. Her aunt smiled and sat back.

"Of course."

"I do have a few questions," said Hermione. Her aunt nodded.

"Naturally."

"You are...the widow of my uncle?"

"Yes. My husband, Lachlan McGonagall, was your father's younger brother. We had been living here at Hogwarts because Irving was ill in health and planning to leave the estate to Lachlan anyway. However..." her aunt paused, looking saddened. "My husband passed away last year. Scarlet fever. Your father insisted I stay here with him, to keep him company. I did, until the end."

"I am so sorry," said Hermione. Aunt McGonagall shook her head.

"I'll catch up to them eventually," she said, smiling wryly. "Now, what else?"

Hermione had been planning to ask more about her mother, but, from the downcast expression on her aunt's face, decided those questions could wait until later. "So, what does this make me for now?" she inquired instead. "With the inheritance up in the air?"

"Well, for now, you will be allowed to stay here at the estate for as long as it takes for our solicitors to sort everything out. You'll receive the title of The Lady Hermione—you may use Granger for your surname if you wish, as it is what you were raised with, but you may also be referred to as McGonagall. And you shall be presented into society next week, at Peverell."

"Next week!" Hermione exclaimed.

"There is to be a ball there. The opportunity is perfect."

"But I don't know how to dance," said Hermione.

"Then you shall learn," said her aunt. "That, and more, as much as I can teach you. The rules of life here are quite different from the rules in Eastworth, and it will take time for you to adjust to them, I'm sure. But adjust you must."

"I will," Hermione promised. "I'm a quick learner."

"I'm glad to hear it, and look forward to seeing you prove it," said her aunt. "But not today. It's getting late, and you must be exhausted. I'll show you to your room." She stood from her chair, but almost immediately there was a resounding _crash_ from the hall. A moment later, Mr. Longbottom ducked his head into the room.

"Madam, I seem to have—"

"Oh, not the mantelpiece _again,_ Longbottom," said her aunt resignedly. "How many times must I tell you _not_ to lean your weight on it—"

"Sorry, madam—"

"Let me see what's to be done—dear, it's just up the stairs and to your left, you'll find it," said her aunt aside to Hermione, who blinked in surprise. Before she could ask for further instructions, her aunt bustled out of the room, still lecturing Mr. Longbottom firmly about delicate furnishings and the need to be gentle with them.

Alone, Hermione wandered from the parlour and aimlessly up the stairs, stopping momentarily to stare at her reflection in the polished gold of the banister. As she went, she slowly became aware of soft, dissonant music coming from somewhere down the hall. She followed it to its source and soon found a large room containing, among other instruments, a harp. Seated at it, and plucking the strings with discordant enthusiasm, was a redheaded girl about her age.

"Hello," said Hermione timidly.

The girl stopped playing at once and turned in alarm. When she saw it was only Hermione, her freckled face brightened, and Hermione realized how pretty she was. "Hello!" she said, swinging herself off her chair. "You must be her."

"Her?"

"The old earl's daughter. It _is_ you, isn't it?"

"Yes—how did you know?"

"Oh, I know everything," said the girl, grinning. "I'm gifted, you see. I can read minds."

"Is that so?" said Hermione, grinning back. "What am I thinking, then?"

"You're thinking something like, 'Who is this strange girl and why is she in my house?' " said the girl. "I'll tell you. I'm Ginny Weasley and I take piano lessons from your aunt. She forgot about me when you arrived, I think, so I snuck up here because I knew there was a harp somewhere and I wanted to try playing it." She winced. "Clearly I should stick to piano. I murdered "La Marseillaise" just now."

"That was "La Marseillaise?" "

"See?" said Ginny. They both giggled. "You won't tell on me, will you?"

"Of course not," said Hermione. "At least, I won't as long as you help me find my room."

"Ooh, I can do that," said Ginny. "I may have snooped around a bit more while I was up here. Now you're thinking I'm terribly improper. It's true, I'm afraid."

"I promise I'm not. I've no idea what's improper," confessed Hermione. "I only just became a lady yesterday."

"How exciting!" said Ginny. "I wish I were an earl's secret daughter."

"I don't think you do, it's all very sudden and confusing. I'm going to have to dance at a ball next week, and I don't even know how."

"Truly?" said Ginny. Hermione nodded. "But I can help you with that!"

"You can?"

"Yes! I'm going to that ball—at Peverell, right? I can teach you everything you need to know, and then we'll be the stars of the night together, and I won't have to talk to terrible Pansy Parkinson! Oh! But I don't know your name."

"It's Hermione," said Hermione.

"That's a lovely name," said Ginny. "Well, Lady Hermione, what do you say?"

"I would appreciate that so much," said Hermione sincerely.

"Then it's settled," said Ginny, linking her arm through Hermione's as they continued down the hall. "You'll come to the Burrow—that's my home—tomorrow for tea. Your aunt will surely let you go, she and my mother adore each other."

"Are you certain?" said Hermione, glancing down at their linked arms and then glancing away. She felt slightly flustered. "You hardly know me."

"Yes, but I can read your mind, remember? And I can already tell we'll be the best of friends," said Ginny. They had come to a stop outside a door only a few feet from the top of the staircase. "Now here's your room. It's very nice, I looked inside already." She grinned again, a mischievous, interesting smile that made Hermione smile back automatically.

"Thank you," she told Ginny with feeling. "You've saved my life."

"Not at all," said Ginny. "I'll see you!" She turned and hurried down the staircase. Hermione hovered outside her room, watching her go. Just as she was about to push open the doors to her room, she heard her name being called at a whisper. She rushed to the top of the staircase and peered down over the banister to see Ginny standing in the entryway, giving her an enthusiastic wave. "Goodbye!"

"Goodbye!" said Hermione, giggling. Ginny winked and then pushed open the manor doors and was gone.

Feeling greatly comforted, Hermione straightened up and stretched, staring around the manor in delight. Where before it had been beautiful in an unattainable sort of way, it now sparkled with possibilities. She was still smiling when something caught her eye. She leaned closer, squinting to make certain.

_How odd._

Although Hermione could have sworn that the flowers she'd seen in the vase when she came in had been wilted past the point of salvation, they now stood tall and blooming with life, almost boastful in their vibrance. She frowned.

 _I must be imagining things,_ she thought. _It's been a long day._ Shaking her head, she turned and entered her room, falling onto the feathery mattress immediately.

By the time she woke up, the flowers were completely gone from her mind.


	3. An Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny teaches Hermione ballroom dancing.

Breakfast with Hermione’s aunt the next morning turned out to be no less than a half-hour long lecture on exactly how to present herself now that she was a part of high society. Hermione was dismayed to learn that there was much more to being a lady than she had previously imagined—and, worse, she was beginning to get the depressing feeling that they were barely scratching the surface of things.

“But _why_ must I wait to be introduced to someone?” she asked. “It makes no sense.”

“It’s simply not the way things are done,” said her aunt patiently. “And my dear, you _must_ learn the way things are done if you wish to have any chance of keeping the estate and your title. You do wish that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Hermione. In truth, she was not so certain, but she could see that it meant a lot to her aunt, and after all, she hadn’t come all this way for nothing—lady or not, Hermione Granger didn’t do things by halves. “I’ll learn it all,” she said. “I’ll be so accomplished a lady, they’ll suspect I have magical powers.” She laughed, thinking of Ginny’s joke about mind-reading from the previous day, but her aunt looked slightly surprised by her choice of words.

“Good,” she said, after a moment, watching Hermione carefully. “What we have gone over this morning will suffice for your appointment this afternoon. The Weasleys are not overly fond of properness, bless them. The Malfoy family, however—” her nostrils flared slightly. “Well, the less said of the Duke of Malfoy, the better.”

“Are they the ones who are hosting the ball next week?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“No, no, that’s Mr. Potter, but the Duke of Malfoy’s son is sure to be there. And the correct term of address for a duke is—”

“Your Grace.” Hermione knew _that_ much.

“Wonderful.” Her aunt smiled at her. “Ginny Weasley is a sweet girl, even if her skills at the harp leave something to be desired. I’m glad you’ve befriended her.”

“So am I,” said Hermione. _“Very_ glad.”

“Well, I suppose you ought to go and prepare yourself for company,” said her aunt, giving her a critical look. “Have you brushed your hair yet this morning?”

“I’ll do it now,” said Hermione, rising from the table and plucking an apple from the bowl of fruit to take with her on the way. As she left the dining room, a painting hanging on the wall caught her eye and she paused to admire it. After a moment, she frowned in confusion. “Aunt McGonagall,” she said, swallowing her bite of apple. “Where did the shadows go?”

“The what?” asked her aunt, glancing up.

“The shadows,” said Hermione, turning to her. “The people in this painting don’t have any shadows, but the buildings do. What happened to their shadows?”

Her aunt gave the painting a sharp stare, almost as though she were admonishing it. After a second, her face relaxed and she looked back at Hermione. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“Look,” Hermione began, turning back to the painting, but to her surprise, the mistake had been rectified. The shadows of the painted city-goers stretched dark and distinct across the canvas, as clear as if they’d always been there. Hermione shook her head. “I could have sworn…”

“Ladies don’t swear,” said her aunt, turning a page of her newspaper. “Now go upstairs and brush that hair of yours, child.”

“Right…” said Hermione. She stared at the painting a moment longer, but when nothing happened, she shook it off, deciding that she must have imagined it after all.

  


The ride to the Burrow was short, for which Hermione was grateful, but once she arrived, she realized she had absolutely no idea how to go about entering. What if someone who wasn’t Ginny answered the door? What if no one did and she was just left to stand out here for hours? What if Ginny _did_ answer the door, but it turned out Hermione had completely misinterpreted her actions the previous day and they weren’t friends at all?

So caught up in these thoughts was she that Hermione didn’t notice the several sets of eyes peering out at her from the bushes as she hovered, wringing her hands, on the doorstep. She _did_ notice, however, when a large bird suddenly flew overhead, its shadow passing over her. She was just craning her neck to try and see better—that couldn’t be an _owl,_ could it, not in the middle of the day—when the doors to the Burrow flew open. “Lady Hermione!” said a voice, and Hermione spun to see Ginny beaming at her. She opened her mouth, the correct words of greeting nowhere to be found in her head, but Ginny didn’t seem to care. “Come in, come in,” she said impatiently, and beckoned her inside.

As the doors closed behind them, Hermione glanced around the Burrow’s entryway and could immediately tell the estate wasn’t of the same caliber as Hogwarts. The paint here was cracked, the floorboards scraped, and the decor cluttered and mismatched. Still, something about the place felt welcoming, far more so than Hogwarts had done, and Hermione’s anxieties began to fade as she took it in. “It’s not much, but it’s home,” said Ginny, watching Hermione’s face. Hermione turned to her.

“I like it here,” she said, sincere. Ginny smiled.

“I’ll introduce you to my family,” she said, and tugged Hermione through the halls to the drawing-room. She entered declaring loudly, “Everyone, this is my newest friend, Lady Hermione Granger. Lady Hermione, my mother, my father, and my brother Ronald.”

“Hello, dear,” said the woman who had Ginny’s brown eyes set in a kind face. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Hello,” chimed the two men in unison. Ginny’s father was tall and had the brightest red hair out of all of them. Her brother was taller still, and wearing a shy smile. On closer inspection, Hermione realized he wasn’t much older than Ginny, probably her age. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance,” she said hesitantly. Mrs. Weasley laughed and Hermione glanced at her, worried she’d said something wrong already, but the older woman shook her head.

“My dear, when you first walked in I thought you didn’t look much like your mother, but your voice—if I’d had my eyes closed, I’d have sworn it was hers.”

“You knew my mother?” asked Hermione. Mrs. Weasley nodded.

“Yes, of course—Malina Lucas. I expect your aunt will prefer to tell you about her. But I can say that if you’re anything like she was, then you’re a perfect match for our Ginny. Miss Lucas was always a free spirit, although she balanced it with temperance.”

“What’s that meant to mean?” Ginny asked suspiciously. “Do I not have temperance? You’ve always said my free spirit was a good thing.”

“There’s a thin line between a free spirit and a hot head,” said her brother. Ginny turned up her nose at him.

“I won’t have you besmirching my name in front of my new friend,” she said. “Come on, Lady Hermione, I’ll take you away from these heathens.” Before Hermione could comment, Ginny was pulling her back down the hall. Hermione let herself be led without protest—something about the way Ginny did it felt not commanding but conspiratorial, as though they were off on some kind of adventure.

“Here we are,” said Ginny, once they had made their way through several winding halls. “This is our music room. Not as sizable as yours, but perfect for dancing lessons.” She dropped down on the piano bench and Hermione sat next to her.

“Is Ronald your only brother?” she asked.

“No, I have six.”

“Six!”

“All older. William, Frederick, Percival, and George are married, and Charles is a bachelor, much to Mum’s despair. They come to visit as often as they can.”

“I can’t imagine,” said Hermione. “I’ve always been the only one.”

“Your life is so different from mine!” said Ginny. “I love it. Things are going to be much more exciting with you here, and I already know everyone will adore you.”

“Not the Duke of Malfoy, apparently,” said Hermione. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“If _that_ family adores you, then you’ve gone seriously wrong somewhere, trust me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Hermione with a smile. She shrugged off her shawl and folded it in her lap. “It’s wonderfully warm in here. How do you manage that? I don’t see a fireplace.”

“Hmm?” said Ginny, looking confused. “Oh, I’m not sure…”

“Come to think of it, the fire wasn’t lit in the drawing-room, was it?” said Hermione, trying to remember. “How is that so? It’s almost winter. My room at Hogwarts is freezing.”

“It wasn’t lit? That can’t be right,” said Ginny vaguely. “You must not have been looking properly. Well, anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re here for dancing, not sitting by the fire.” She swung herself around on the bench and rested her hands on the keys. “All right, for our first lesson, I’ll play something simple and then show you the steps. It’s easy once you count the time, I promise.”

Hermione nodded, and Ginny began to play, counting _one, two, three, four_ quietly under her breath. Her skill at the piano was far better than at the harp, and Hermione would have been content to sit and watch her play for the rest of the afternoon, but Ginny stopped abruptly and said, “Now we dance!”

They stood across from one another in the sunlit room. “I’ll take the part of the gentleman,” Ginny told her. “First I bow, and you curtsey.” She bent over dramatically and did a series of flourishing gestures with one outstretched hand. Hermione sank into a deep curtsey and mirrored her somber expression, pressing her lips together to keep from laughing.

“And now?”

“Now you come forward and we meet in the middle. Step lightly, remember the music!” Ginny gripped her hand and turned her in a circle. “And now we switch partners, so pretend I’m a different person.” She let go of Hermione’s hand, then rushed around her and took it again. “Good evening, my lady. Aren’t you looking ravishing?” she said, adopting a gravelly voice.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” said Hermione, fluttering her eyelashes at Ginny.

“Now go under my arm, and we all go in a circle, one, two, three, four, and back together!” said Ginny. “Why, beautiful lady, you’re dancing quite well tonight!”

“I had an excellent teacher,” Hermione told her. Ginny winked.

“Make sure you step with me. One, two, three, four…” she hummed several more stanzas of the waltz as she led Hermione through the dance. “And now, we bow once more, and we’re through. You did perfectly!”

“Only because you led so well,” said Hermione.

“You’ll probably have to dance with a few less adequate gentlemen, sadly,” said Ginny. “Mr. Longbottom in particular is far from graceful, but at least he’s nice. And remember, if you ever run out of things to say or stumble at a crucial moment in the dance, simply pretend to faint. Works every time.”

“It does?” asked Hermione, vaguely horrified. Ginny winced.

“Well, no, sometimes it fails spectacularly, just take my word for it on that one. But hopefully it won’t come to that.” Saying so, Ginny swept her skirts aside and sat down on the smooth wooden floor. Hermione joined her, stretching her feet out to touch Ginny’s so that the space between them formed a diamond shape. “We’re being most improper, you know,” said Ginny with a wicked grin. “I’m corrupting you with my heathen ways.”

“I think I’ll just stay close to you the whole time instead of dancing with strangers,” said Hermione. “At least I don’t have to worry about properness with you.”

“And you never will,” Ginny vowed. “The moment you’re concerned about etiquette around me is the moment you have permission to stop being my friend. I’d deserve it.”

“That won’t happen,” said Hermione. “Your mind-reading powers already determined it. Heathens together—we’ll be friends till the end.”

“Yes! Till the end,” repeated Ginny, pushing up from the floor. She took Hermione’s hands in hers and pulled her to her feet, spinning them around circles until they were both helpless with laughter. “Now it’s a promise.”

“A most solemn vow,” said Hermione. “Shall we seal the deal with tea before we return to our lessons?”

“You have the best ideas,” said Ginny, and they left the room together.


	4. An Expedition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange occurrences plague Hermione as she explores Hogwarts and the nearby town.

The invitation arrived Saturday morning, and Hermione could not have been more glad for it. The past few days had been filled with nothing but etiquette lessons. Hermione went to sleep dreaming of salad forks and woke up to training on how to hold a soup spoon, and although she loved to learn, there were limits to how much she could take at once.

“Aunt McGonagall, look,” she said, waving the letter above her head. “The Weasleys have invited me to come into town with them tomorrow. Ginny says it will be such fun. Can’t I go?”

“Hmm,” said her aunt, taking the letter from her. “Well, I suppose you do deserve a respite after all this. I know I have been drilling you rather hard.”

“Not at all,” said Hermione untruthfully. Her aunt glanced up and gave her a dry look.

“No need to lie, child, I’m old enough to take the truth.”

“You’ve been very thorough,” said Hermione. “I can’t complain about that.”

“You could, but you won’t,” said her aunt. “You’re a good girl. A common subject you may have been raised, but you’re a lady through and through.”

Hermione beamed. “So I’ll write to Ginny and say I can come?”

“I’ll send a response,” said her aunt, waving her off. “Go on and occupy yourself.”

“No lessons this morning?” Hermione asked, disbelieving. Her aunt shook her head.

“Leave quickly before I change my mind!”

Hermione didn’t need telling twice. She left the room feeling as though she were walking on clouds. A morning without lessons _and_ the promise of seeing Ginny tomorrow—all of a sudden she felt very glad that she’d chosen to come here in the end.

Although she had been staying at Hogwarts for several days, Hermione had only had the chance to see part of the manor, and now she’d been given a golden chance to explore it. She felt oddly giddy as she ascended the staircase. Being in the estate made her feel like a little girl again, playing make-believe. Hermione wound through the halls with wide eyes, sometimes imagining dark corners and cobwebs, sometimes castle walls and magic. _This is my life now,_ she thought to herself, and still found herself struggling to believe it was true.

There were many rooms and hallways at Hogwarts, most of them empty. There were the family bedrooms, the sitting rooms, and two music rooms, and of course the servants had their quarters, too. Hermione was beginning to learn their names now. Sir Nicholas was the valet, and Sir Cadogan managed the stables and drove the carriage. Myrtle was a housemaid close to her age, Peeves was a footman, and her aunt’s lady’s maid was named Helena. There was talk of hiring a lady’s maid for Hermione, too, but that was still pending.

Even with all those rooms accounted for, there were a myriad of corridors and staircases Hermione could almost swear were moving around. Normally she prided herself on her sense of direction, but she could get lost in Hogwarts without even trying. The previous day she had been a half-hour late for lunch just trying to find her way from her room to the dining hall, but that night for supper she’d had no trouble at all. She supposed her mind was so occupied with etiquette lessons that there was no room for a map of the manor inside it.

Out of all the mysterious wings and corridors at Hogwarts, however, the place that interested Hermione most was the portrait hall. Ever since Mrs. Weasley’s comments about her mother, Hermione had been alive with curiosity about her birth family, especially her father and late uncle. She didn’t wish to press her aunt, but looking for family portraits hardly counted as snooping, especially since she technically owned the manor. Well, mostly. That was still being debated.

The halls were more familiar than usual today, leading Hermione to suspect that her suspicions of moving staircases had simply been the product of an overactive imagination. She passed the harp room, her aunt’s indoor garden, and was very nearly distracted by the library before she pulled herself away, reminding herself of her mission. She walked past the door and down several corridors before at last finding herself in a wide hall Hermione was quite certain she’d never been in before.

“Success,” she whispered. The candles on the walls weren’t lit, and there were no windows, but she had come prepared for that. Holding her candle aloft, she could make out large square shapes hanging on the walls. With bated breath, she angled the light so that fell on the wall and illuminated—

An empty portrait frame.

“Hmm,” she said aloud. Perhaps this frame was simply waiting to be filled, or maybe the portrait had been damaged and been taken for restoration. Hermione ventured forward, raising the light to the next dark square, but there was only another blank canvas. And another. And another.

_Probably this is the portrait-hall-in-waiting,_ she told herself. _The paintings that already exist must be in the next corridor._ But there was no next corridor, she discovered, as she reached the end of the hall. There was nothing but a dead end.

Disheartened, Hermione turned and went back the way she had come. She supposed she would have to wait for her aunt to take her to see the real portrait hall, wherever that may be. As she reached the end of the passageway, she spared a final disappointed look over her shoulder—and froze.

_What was that?_

Squinting into the darkness, Hermione thought she saw it again: a flicker of movement from a nearby canvas. She raised the candle over her head, heart beating quickly. There was no repeated movement.

Gooseflesh crept over Hermione’s skin, making her shudder. Suddenly she got the feeling that if she stayed here a moment longer something was going to come at her out of the darkness and she wheeled around, walking away from the empty walls as quickly as she could. She did not look over her shoulder again until she was standing beneath a window’s filtered light.

Slowly, she felt her heartbeat return to normal.

  


When the Weasleys’ carriage arrived the next morning, Hermione practically ran down the front path to greet it, waving excitedly and seeing Ginny’s answering wave from within. As soon as she reached the carriage doors, they swung open and Ginny was enthusiastically pulling her inside and down into the seat next to her. Only once Hermione had finished smoothing her skirt and responding to her friend’s greetings did she glance up and notice that Ginny’s older brother was seated across from her.

“Oh!” she said, blushing. “Hello, Mr. Weasley.”

“Hello,” said Mr. Weasley, also blushing. Hermione bit her lip, feeling shy, but Ginny piped up from beside her.

“Don’t mind Ron, he had to come, too improper for us to go off on our own. He’s harmless. _Bit of an idiot, really,”_ she added in a stage whisper. Her brother looked offended.

“Don’t go there, Ginny, or I’ll start telling your friend stories about you.” He glanced at Hermione. “Has she mentioned what happened with her and Mr. Longbottom at the last ball we had?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” wailed Ginny. “How was I to know he was allergic?”

“Allergic to what?” Hermione asked, and Ron and Ginny both began to talk over one another at once. By the time they reached the town, all three of them were shaking with laughter and Hermione felt a good deal more at ease.

“Here we are!” said Ginny, swinging herself down from the carriage with practiced ease. Hermione hesitated slightly, and Ron, seeing this, awkwardly offered her his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” she said, stepping down onto the cobblestones.

“Oh, please call me Ron,” he said. She nodded.

“All right.”

“What do you want to see first?” Ginny asked, linking their arms together. “The shops? Or shall we walk into the square?”

“Let’s see everything,” said Hermione, staring around at the buildings with awe. “I haven’t been in a town like this before, Eastworth was half the size. What’s this place called again?”

“Hogsmeade,” said Ginny. “It’s lovely here. We’ll go to the square first. We can wish in the fountain.”

“Careful where you step,” Ron interjected, as they set off down the road. “Your shoes will be ruined if you don’t watch where you put your feet.”

“Ron can tell you from experience,” added Ginny conspiratorially.

“That was one time!” said Ron.

“Twice.”

“The second time was only because _you_ pushed me—” Ron began, but Ginny suddenly stopped walking.

“Oh _look,”_ she said, totally diverted. “Look, it’s Harry!” And she let go of Hermione’s arm to catch up with a dark-haired young man slightly ahead of them on the path. Hermione looked at Ron for an explanation.

“That’d be Harry Potter, my good friend—well, mine and Ginny’s. We’ve known him since he arrived here, years ago. He’s practically part of the family.”

_Potter,_ thought Hermione. _Is he related to the Potter who owns Peverell?_ Before she could ask, Ron grinned down at her. “You know, speaking of good friends—Ginny’s been talking about you nonstop since she met you,” he said. “I don’t know what you did to get in her good graces so quickly, but I applaud you for it.”

“To be honest, I don’t know what I did either,” said Hermione. She and Ron were now walking side-by-side on the pavement. “I truly appreciate it, though. I felt so lost when I got here and she has helped so much.”

“Ginny’s like that,” said Ron. “Once my sister makes a friend, she’s their friend forever. It’s the same with her enemies.”

“I’ll be sure to stay high in her esteem then,” said Hermione. Ron laughed, looking as though he were about to say more, then suddenly his smile froze.

“Don’t look now,” he said under his breath. “Here comes Mr. Snape, the apothecary. He hates us.”

“All of us?” said Hermione, confused, but then she saw that Ginny and the unknown Potter had stopped walking up ahead and were waiting for them to catch up. Clustered together, they watched as a thin, sallow man approached them, his hooked nose buried in a yellowing book. Their stares must have drawn his notice, because he glanced up, a look of displeasure passing over his face at the sight of the four of them. Disdainfully, he lowered his book and crossed the street. “Rude,” said Hermione, a tad louder than she had meant to; Mr. Snape gave her a very ugly look over his shoulder. Ginny, Ron, and the other gentleman burst into laughter.

“Told you he hates us,” said Ron as they continued.

“Why, though?”

“Ron and I because we’re poor,” said Ginny brightly. “Landed gentry by the skin of our teeth. He thinks he’s better than us because he’s friends with the Duke of Malfoy. And as for Harry, well, mainly because he exists.”

“Looks like you’ve earned yourself his disapproval too, Lady Hermione,” said the new gentleman, Harry Potter. He was rakishly attractive, with eyes an alarming shade of green. “Trust us, it’s practically a badge of honor around here.”

“I believe you,” said Hermione, frowning at the apothecary’s retreating form.

“Well, I’ll see you two later,” said Mr. Potter, clapping Ron on the back. “And Lady Hermione, I think I’ll be seeing you soon, too?”

“Will you?” asked Hermione, confused, but before he could respond Ginny piped up from beside her.

“Ooh, the fountain! Let’s go, let’s throw coins in. Harry, can’t you give us coins before you go?”

“Why do I have to sacrifice my coins?” Mr. Potter asked, faking indignance. “Only children do this, Ginny, and I work hard for my money—”

“You _do not—”_

“Wait for us,” Hermione called, as they hurried ahead. “Ginny, wait—oh!” She stumbled slightly and heard a small tearing sound. Hermione looked down to see that she had walked too close to the edge of the pavement and the corner of her dress had gotten caught on a carriage wheel. There was now a large rip in the fabric. “Oh, no…”

“What? Oh,” said Ron, looking down at the tear. “It’s all right, it’s not very big.”

“It’s _not_ all right,” said Hermione, upset. “My aunt gave me this dress. She gave it to me specially because she said it suited my hair. And now I’ve gone and torn it, and she’s been so kind to me, and…”

“Here, it’s not so bad,” said Ron anxiously. “I can help.”

“How?” Hermione asked, examining the tear with dismay.

“Close your eyes,” said Ron. Hermione eyed him suspiciously, but he shook his head. “No, really, do it.”

“Well...all right,” she said, and feeling a little silly, shut her eyes tight. For a moment, all she heard was the sound of carriages wheeling by and voices swirling around them, then Ron said, “Now look.”

She looked, and gasped. The torn fragment of the dress was smooth once more, as though it had never been ripped. “How did you _do_ that?”

“Magic,” said Ron, watching her face. Hermione frowned impatiently.

“No, really, how?”

“Hermione!” a voice suddenly called, and she and Ron glanced over to see Ginny waving from the fountain. “Come and make a wish, or I’ll wish for you!”

“We’re coming!” said Ron. He turned back to Hermione and offered her his arm. She stared at him, then back down at her dress.

“Hermione!” Ginny called again. Hermione sighed, then took Ron’s arm and let him lead her toward the center of the square.

“You’re going to tell me how you did that later,” she told him. He opened his mouth, but at that moment, a carriage rode by, and in the clopping of the horse’s hooves and the rattle of wheels on cobblestones she couldn’t hear Ron’s response.

Later, much later, when she thought to pick it apart, Hermione thought it may have been something like, “I already did.”


	5. An Entertaining Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the ball at Peverell has finally arrived...

The morning of the ball at Peverell dawned clear, crisp, and cold. Sunlight streamed in through Hermione’s open windows, washing her room in brightness. She groaned.

“Lavender, why are my windows open?”

“Your aunt thought it would be good for you to have some fresh air in the morning, my lady,” said the voice of her new lady’s maid, Lavender Brown. Hermione pulled her covers closer.

“It’s very cold,” she said, voice muffled. “And very bright. Pray tell my aunt I am allergic to fresh air and cannot be having it at any time of day, especially mornings.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” said Lavender, coming around the side of the bed and yanking the blankets away from her. Hermione moaned. “It’s the day of your presentation at the ball. Don’t you want to prepare yourself?”

“The ball,” Hermione repeated, suddenly feeling more awake. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Right. Yes. I’m up.”

“Good,” said Lavender. “I’ll be right back.”

Yawning, Hermione swung herself out of bed and padded over to the windows, which she tugged shut one by one. No longer shivering, she took a seat at her vanity table and stared at herself in the mirror. Hermione had never been one to pay much attention to her appearance before, but now she examined her face carefully. _I’m not bad looking, am I?_ she thought anxiously. _Not as pretty as Ginny, but not terrible._ Her teeth were too large and her hair was untamable on the best of days, but her other features were at least passable. “Lavender,” she said, as her maid re-entered the room, “Do you think I could be pretty?”

Lavender examined her with a critical eye. “I _think_ so,” she said. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, thank you for the glowing review.”

“You’re very welcome,” said Lavender. She picked up the hairbrush from the nearby dresser and waved it above her head as though it were a magic wand. “Now, are you ready?”

“I was born ready,” said Hermione, throwing out her arms. “Do your worst!”

“That’s the spirit,” said Lavender. “We’ll make you beautiful yet…”

  


If the morning had been cold, the evening of the ball was nothing short of freezing. Hermione drew her shawl closer around her shoulders, hoping against hope that Peverell estate was well heated. She snuck a peek at her aunt to see whether or not she was shivering too, but the other woman was as implacable and dignified as ever. Hermione sighed.

“We should be there soon,” said her aunt, glancing out the window. Hermione winced slightly, and her aunt gave her a softer look. “You’ll do excellently,” she reassured her. “You’re well prepared.”

“But what if I don’t? What if I make a fool of myself?” Hermione said helplessly. “What if I make an unforgivable error? What if I trip? What if I forget how to speak?”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to live with it,” said her aunt. “But I don’t think so. I have faith in you, my dear.”

Before Hermione could ask how her aunt could be so sure, the carriage came to a rolling stop. Her aunt raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Well?”

Hermione took a deep breath, and steeling herself, reached out and pushed open the carriage doors. At once, a wave of chilly air swept into the carriage. Shivering, Hermione drew back, but as her eyes adjusted to the slight darkness she could make out the outline of Peverell against the sky and her curiosity began to outweigh her dread. Quickly, so that she could not think better of it, she stood and stepped outside.

“Wow,” she breathed.

Peverell was beautiful. The exterior was marble and shining, the windows were many and polished, and the whole building radiated an air of sparkling invitation. Hogwarts manor was her home now and she loved it deeply, but as Hermione took in Peverell she thought that it was equally as wonderful, something she had not considered possible.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” said her aunt from beside her. “Mr. Potter has kept it in good shape.”

“Shall we go in?” said Hermione. The sight of the beautiful manor had cheered her, giving the night a magical feel. Her aunt gave her an approving smile and took her arm. Together, they approached the estate.

The doors were open, and a glow further down the hall indicated the spot from where the muted chatter was coming. As they drew closer and closer to the ballroom, Hermione felt dread begin to curdle in her stomach again, but she pushed it down and straightened her back. _You can do this,_ she told herself as they stepped through the doorway.

“Minerva,” called a voice almost the moment they entered the room. Hermione glanced over to see two older women waving to her aunt, who smiled and let go of Hermione’s arm at once. Alarmed, Hermione clutched at her sleeve, but her aunt shook her off. “You’ll do splendidly,” she said, and sailed away.

Instantly, all Hermione’s confidence deserted her. She stood stranded by the doorway, wringing her hands together helplessly—there were so many people, and the thought of going up to one of them and starting a conversation made her feel physically ill. Hermione might have stood there frozen for the rest of the night had a voice not just then spoken her name.

“Lady Hermione?”

Hermione turned to see a tall, well-dressed young man about her age standing just behind her. His dark hair was spiky and his eyes a bright shade of green. He looked familiar, but Hermione’s frazzled mind couldn’t seem to place him. “Hello,” she said uncertainly.

“I’m glad to see you could come,” said the gentleman. Hermione blinked.

“Do I know you?”

“We’ve met,” said the gentleman. “Briefly, in town, the other day?”

“Oh!” said Hermione, as something clicked in her head. “You’re Harry Potter! Ginny’s friend, from town.”

Mr. Potter grinned. “The very same.”

Hermione smiled back, feeling cheered to have an almost-acquaintance in the room. “So your father’s the one who’s having this ball, then?” she said, staring around. “It’s very nice. I should thank him for the invitation.” She looked back at Mr. Potter to see that his smile had disappeared and she paled. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no,” said Mr. Potter quickly. “It’s just—my father and mother are deceased. This is my estate, and my ball.”

“Oh no,” said Hermione, horrified. “I’m so sorry to bring it up.”

“Don’t worry,” said Mr. Potter, looking awkward. Hermione was just wishing she could sink into the floor and remain there forever when, suddenly, music began to play. The tune was familiar, and Hermione realized it was the same song Ginny had taught her to dance to the previous week. Seeing her face brighten, Mr. Potter offered her his arm. “Would you like to dance?”

“All right,” said Hermione, and let him lead her to the floor.

They stood across from each other in two lines, men on one side and women on the other. Hermione glanced down the line but saw no sign of Ginny’s red hair, to her great disappointment. Then, as the music swelled, everyone swept a bow or curtsey and the dance began.

Hermione’s assessment of the dance was thus: Mr. Potter was a mediocre dancer, nowhere near as graceful as Ginny, but not bad. When they switched partners, Hermione found herself dancing with a cheerful young man who introduced himself as Mr. Finnegan. Although pleasant in demeanor, he was a bit ahead of the melody and sent her careening prematurely into the arms of her next partner, whom she was surprised to find that she knew.

“Hello, Mr. Longbottom!” she said breathlessly.

“Hello, Lady Hermione,” he responded. “I’m sorry, I’m terrible at this.”

“Terrible is a strong word,” said Hermione, then winced. “Ouch, that was my foot.”

“Told you,” said Mr. Longbottom glumly. They danced together for several more stanzas, he apologizing profusely and Hermione trying to avoid his feet, then he passed her off to another stranger, a young man her age with ice-blond hair and a disdainful gaze.

“Good evening,” said Hermione, as they stepped together. The stranger made no move to respond, only held her slightly at arm’s length as they continued the dance. Something about this irked Hermione. “I _said_ good evening,” she said. “Don’t you know it’s good manners to respond to such a greeting?”

“I believe I know a great deal more about manners than the likes of you,” said the stranger, not meeting her gaze. Hermione glared at him.

“I’m not so sure about that. The ‘likes of me’ happens to be the Lady Hermione Granger of Gryffindor, daughter of the Earl of Gryffindor,” she said. “And _you_ are?”

After a pause, the stranger deigned to make eye contact with her. “I am Lord Draco Malfoy, son of the Duke of Malfoy,” he said. “And I do not believe you can claim the title to the earldom of Gryffindor—you are a _bastard,_ are you not?”

“Well!” gasped Hermione, outraged. At the look on her face, Lord Malfoy’s mouth curled up in an expression of grim satisfaction. This was too much for Hermione, and she was on the point of yanking her hands out of his, no matter the spectacle it might cause, when he suddenly made an odd choking noise. Hermione glanced down to see that the cravat at his throat had contracted, and appeared to be growing inexplicably tighter, turning his face a slow purple. _What on Earth?_ she thought, staring in confusion. _How…?_

Lord Malfoy made another choked sound and Hermione looked up to meet his eyes. Almost as soon as she did so, the fabric loosened, and he drew in a deep breath. The two of them had come to a complete standstill, staring at each other in mutual shock, but before either of them could say a word, hands reached out to them both and the dance took them away from each other.

Hermione found herself in Mr. Potter’s grasp once more, but she had no concentration for the dance now. She missed several steps, nearly tripped, and would have tangled herself into a hopeless knot if the music had not finally come to an end. Mr. Potter looked worried as he swept her a bow, she giving a preoccupied curtsey in return. “Are you all right?” he asked, as they exited the crowd of dancers.

Hermione opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, deciding in a split second against relating the incident with the cravat. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest. “Just _who_ does the Duke of Malfoy’s son think he is?” she asked.

To her surprise, Mr. Potter laughed. “What did he say to you? You must ignore him, it’s the only way to deal with him.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Hermione, irritation flooding through her. “He didn’t call you a bastard, now did he? My aunt would be most unhappy about his conduct. I should inform her.”

“Ah, don’t worry about Draco,” said Mr. Potter bracingly. “He’s not so bad really, once you get to know him.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Hermione huffed.

“Don’t get hysterical, it’s exactly what he wants—” Mr Potter began, but an offended Hermione snatched her arm out of his before he could continue. Mr. Potter looked confused, then guilty. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, but it was too late; she was already gone.

Hermione had always thought it best to examine and re-examine everything that inspired confusion, so as to trace the confusion to its source and solve the issue. However, as she stood in a corner, obsessively replaying the past few moments in her head, Hermione was annoyed to find that she could not come up with a satisfactory explanation for what she had just seen. _You were imagining things,_ she told herself. _You were upset, so you imagined you were strangling him. A surprisingly violent but entirely justifiable reaction. It was made up._

“No it wasn’t,” she said under her breath.

_No, it wasn’t._

Hermione’s exasperation spiked. _It’s got to have an explanation. Everything has an explanation. Everything, like the flowers that were dying and then weren’t, and my mended dress, and the disappearing portraits. It’s not impossible, it’s got to have a rational, scientific—_

All of a sudden, the candles dancing along the walls blew out, submerging the ballroom in darkness. Hermione startled, hearing shrieks of surprise from the floor, but within seconds the hall was bright again. Blinking, Hermione looked around to see the candles lit once more, filling the room with merry light.

“Quite good!” exclaimed a voice from somewhere in the room, and laughter and applause echoed off the walls. Hermione shook her head, uncertain if she was dreaming or awake. How could this be? And was it her imagination, or were people sneaking glances at her, as though checking to make sure she wasn’t running for the door?

Just then, Hermione felt a tap on her shoulder, and she turned around, ready to tell someone off—but upon realizing who had tapped her, she threw her arms around the person instead. _“Ginny!”_

“Hello!” said Ginny, hugging her back tightly. “I’ve been looking for you all night!”

“So have I,” said Hermione, then drew back. “Ginny, what’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” asked Ginny. Hermione stared at her. “Oh, the lights? It’s just a party trick, Harry loves to show off. I still haven’t figured out how he does it!” She laughed, but the laugh seemed stretched somehow.

“Oh…” said Hermione, frowning uncertainly. Seeing this, Ginny leaned forward and gripped her hands tightly. She looked furtive, almost guilty. “Please don’t worry too much about it. I’m sure if you ask your aunt, she’ll be able to explain it,” she said.

Something about the concern in her friend’s expression eased Hermione’s mind. Pushing her confusion away for now, she glanced down and took in the full effect of Ginny’s dress for the first time. She gasped. “You’re so beautiful!”

“Thank you,” said Ginny, instantly blushing crimson. She was outfitted in a simple green dress that flowed down her body like water, her red hair tied up in a complicated braided hairstyle. The minimalist cut and lack of adornment on the dress made her look polished and elegant, unlike some of the more gaudy dresses Hermione had seen throughout the night. “You look beautiful, too.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, glancing down at herself. Her dress was a dusty pink shade with lace trimmings at the bottom. She and Lavender had decided that it, along with her upswept hair, made her look lovely at the very least. “Thank you.”

“So,” said Ginny, drawing herself taller and seeming to shake off the discomfort of their previous conversation. “Here we are, two beautiful ladies, yet tragically without dance partners.”

“Is it really _so_ tragic?” asked Hermione. Ginny grinned.

“This usually happens, anyway. There are just too few gentlemen. But you know what we do about that.”

“What?”

“Dance together, of course!” said Ginny. She took Hermione by the arm. “Won’t you? It’s well within the bounds of decorum, I promise, especially when there is such a shortage of gentlemen.”

Hermione hesitated, still feeling ill at ease, but the opportunity to dance with Ginny was not one she wished to pass up. “As long as we stay at the opposite end of the line from Lord Malfoy,” she said.

“What’s he done?” asked Ginny. Hermione explained quickly, omitting the part with the cravat, and Ginny rolled her eyes. “Harry said that? He’s such an idiot—and _he’s_ one to talk about ignoring Draco Malfoy.”

“What do you mean?”

Ginny nodded to the opposite corner of the room. Hermione glanced over to see Lord Malfoy deep in conversation with Mr. Potter, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. “Harry’s always complaining about him, but he’s always talking to him too, so really he earns what he gets.”

“He certainly does,” huffed Hermione. Ginny linked their arms together and led her away toward the center of the floor.

“Don’t worry, we’ll stay far from them. And I’ll be the best dance partner of your entire evening.”

As they took their places in line, Hermione beamed at her, feeling lighter at heart already. “I have no doubt of it.”

  


About half an hour later, supper was announced, and everyone ceased dancing and talking and began to line up to enter the dining room. As they shuffled about, Hermione attempted to stand close to Ginny near the back, but the other girl pushed her forward, shaking her head. Hermione suddenly found herself at the front of the line, and was dismayed to find Lord Malfoy standing there as well, looking as displeased as she felt. He extended an arm to her slowly, as though the movement pained him. _Daughter of an earl, son of a duke,_ she thought, remembering her etiquette training. _Highest-ranking in the room. He’s to escort me in._

Without speaking, but attempting to communicate her disdain via her eyes, Hermione took his arm. Touching each other as little as possible, they entered the dining room and immediately let go of each other to take their seats. Hermione had lost track of her aunt, whom she wished to speak to now more than ever, but Ginny and Ron took seats on either side of her, which greatly lifted her spirits.

“Ooh, the soup looks good,” said Ginny, as the dishes began to be uncovered. “Harry has truly outdone himself with this one. He won’t be able to talk to us, of course, being the host and all.” She nodded down the table to where Mr. Potter, looking vaguely uncomfortable, was talking with a gaggle of guests.

“Who’s that?” Hermione asked, her eyes fixated on the silver-haired man seated at the head of the table.

“Oh, that’s Mr. Dumbledore, Harry’s grandfather,” said Ginny. “This whole thing will have been his idea. Harry hates attention, he’d never have one of these normally, but his grandfather does love the opportunity to show off the wealth a bit. He’s such a nice old man, though.”

Hermione watched Mr. Dumbledore for a few seconds as he chatted calmly with one of the guests. As if aware of her gaze, the man suddenly glanced up, and a pair of piercing, electric-blue eyes met her own. Hermione quickly looked back down at her plate. “He’ll have known my father, won’t he,” she said quietly. Ginny and Ron looked at her with some surprise.

“Seems likely,” said Ron. “Here, Hermione, want some soup?”

“Hmm? Oh, I suppose so,” said Hermione. Nodding, Ron reached over, took her bowl, and began ladling soup into it. Hermione was vaguely confused until she remembered her aunt’s many lessons about dining. _A lady does not serve herself in a group setting, the gentleman does. It is not good form to ask a neighbor to pass a dish. A lady does not ask for wine._ She frowned, trying to keep everything straight. Ginny nudged her.

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

“Everything,” sighed Hermione. Ginny gave her a knowing look.

“So. What do you think of your first foray into high society?”

“It hasn’t been all bad, I suppose,” said Hermione. “Dancing with you was lovely—”

“—Obviously—”

“—But I think smaller settings are more my speed. This all feels so...formal.”

“You know what you’ll like?” said Ron, as he handed her plate back to her. “When Luna gets back from the country. The Lady Luna, I mean. She loves hosting small events, and I can promise you they’re never formal. Nothing about her is.” He grinned, almost to himself, and Ginny made a face.

“Ron’s got a _thing_ for her,” she said.

“I do not,” said Ron, blushing. “Give me your plate, Gin.”

“Luna’s a lot of fun,” Ginny told Hermione, as they began to eat. “I think you _will_ like her. I mean, she is Lord Malfoy’s cousin, but she can’t exactly help that.”

“Lord Malfoy,” Hermione repeated with scorn. Ron laughed.

“Hate him already, do you? I’m not blaming you.”

“Hate’s a strong word,” said Hermione, staring down the length of the table to where Lord Malfoy sat next to Mr. Potter. Feeling her eyes on him, he glanced up, and on meeting her gaze he raised his eyebrows at her mockingly. Frowning, she looked back to Ginny. “We’ll have to see whether he earns it.”

Ginny beamed at her. “I knew you would make things interesting,” she said.

Remembering again the events of the evening, Hermione thought to herself, _not half so interesting as you..._


	6. An Enigma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna Lovegood hosts a garden party.

The following two weeks were the most curious of Hermione’s life. Now that she had officially made her debut into society, she was receiving numerous house calls from a manner of mysterious characters. Some were nearly normal, like Miss Sprout or Mr. Flitwick. Some were extremely abnormal, like Miss Trelawney or Mr. Ollivader. All, however, had one thing in common, one thing Hermione was absolutely sure about: _they knew something she didn’t._

Whether it was by stolen glance, leading suggestion, or layered allusion, each house guest seemed to be hinting at it—but as to what _it_ was, Hermione had no clue. She was aware that this assessment sounded paranoid at best, and indeed, she probably would have assumed she were losing her mind completely were it not for the fact that _things...kept...happening._

Ever since she and her aunt had returned from Peverell, matters at Hogwarts Estate had become progressively more mystifying. The halls were no longer pretending as though they weren’t changing while she slept—in fact, the house almost seemed to be laughing at her, one day leaving her room where it was, the next sending it half across the manor. And now it wasn’t just the portraits that had empty frames; fruit was missing from the still-life in the dining hall, and the people in the painting of a city kept changing their postures when Hermione wasn’t looking.

Something was definitely going on, and several times, Hermione had been on the point of confronting her aunt about the situation—had nearly sat her down and _demanded_ an explanation. But every time this urge came upon her Hermione stopped herself. _Don’t ask her to explain to you,_ she thought. _Wait until you’ve solved it, until you’ve put it all together. You’ve never asked for help before; you don’t have to start now._

The only thing in Hermione’s life that remained constant was Ginny’s presence. They spent as much time together as they could, taking walks across Hogwarts’ grounds and going window shopping in Hogsmeade. On the first Sunday after the ball at Peverell, however, it had been too cold to be outside, so Ginny had opted to try and teach Hermione to play the piano instead. After several lackluster attempts at “Fur Elise,” Hermione had decided she far preferred to watch Ginny play, so they sat together in the music room, listening to the sounds of Bach’s "Goldberg Variations."

“Sorry,” said Ginny, her hands stilling on the keys. “I keep making mistakes. I swear I’m usually much better than this.”

“I didn’t notice at all,” said Hermione honestly. “I thought it sounded beautiful.”

“Thank you,” said Ginny, blushing slightly. “I like to think I’m all right at it. It’s the only ladylike hobby I have, really—we tried embroidery, but all my patterns ended up stained with brown.”

“Brown?”

“From the blood,” said Ginny, wincing. Hermione laughed.

“What, were you just stabbing yourself with the needle?”

“Well, not on purpose, anyway,” said Ginny, and resumed playing. After a few moments, Hermione leaned her head on Ginny’s shoulder, watching the other girl’s hands dance across the piano keys. Ginny tensed slightly, but continued playing, and eventually her head came to rest on top of Hermione’s. They stayed like that until they were interrupted by Hermione’s aunt, who entered the room holding a letter.

“For you, my dear,” she said, and Hermione reached out to accept the envelope. _The Lady Luna Lovegood of Rook Place,_ it read. Tearing it open, Hermione scanned the contents and lit up.

“She’s inviting me to her garden party in two days’ time!”

“Ooh,” said Ginny, ceasing to play. “That shall be good fun.”

“A garden party?” said Hermione’s aunt. “Is the girl mad? It’s nearly winter!”

Remembering Ron’s words for Lady Luna’s gatherings—“small, informal, and atypical”—Hermione thought that if ever there was a place to confirm her theories about Hogwarts and everything associated with it, it was going to be this one. “I’ll bring a coat,” she said. “I intend to go even if it’s pouring down snow.”

Her aunt gave her an appraising look. “It just might,” she said. “You’d better make sure it’s a nice one…”

But as it turned out, they needn’t have worried. The day of the garden party dawned bright and brilliant with winter sunshine, barely cold enough to need a shawl. Hermione opened the windows of the carriage and leaned her head out as they rode, watching the hills roll by. When the carriage finally came to a stop, she threw open the doors and stepped out with single-minded determination, not letting even the sight of Lady Luna’s strange estate deter her.

Rook Place was wildly different from Hogwarts, the Burrow, and Peverell. It was built from dark gray brick, spiraling higher and higher until it ended in a beautifully pointed turret. Hermione remembered that Lady Luna was Lord Malfoy’s cousin and felt a renewed surge of hope. This place was nothing like Lord Malfoy, and with any luck, its owner would be too.

After knocking upon the heavy wooden door, Hermione was escorted by a valet around the side of the building, holding her skirts up so that they wouldn’t trail in any mud. When they came around the corner, she was presented with a beautiful sprawling green on which tents had been set up. Several well-dressed figures were crowded under these tents, while others were talking out in the sunlight. Drawing in a deep breath, Hermione let her skirts swish back down and ventured forward.

“Lady Hermione!” called a voice as soon as she was within earshot of the nearest tent. Hermione looked over, expecting Ginny, but instead she was greeted by a group of unfamiliar young women around her age. The person who had called her name had come forward to greet her. She was black-haired, with a pinched face and unhealthily pale complexion, and she closed her hand around Hermione’s wrist with a grip just slightly too tight. “Everyone, this is the Lady Hermione Granger of whom we have just been speaking,” the stranger said, dragging Hermione toward the group. “The one who has caused such a stir. I’m Pansy Parkinson,” she added, addressing Hermione. “These are Miss Abbott, Miss Bones, Miss Greengrass, and Miss Bulstrode.”

_Pansy Parkinson,_ Hermione thought, wondering why the name sounded familiar. After a moment, it came back to her. When she had first met Ginny, the other girl had said she was excited that Hermione was going to the ball, because it meant she could avoid “terrible Pansy Parkinson.” As Miss Parkinson surveyed her with a markedly shrewd gaze, Hermione thought she was about to understand the venom that had been in Ginny’s voice.

“It’s very nice to make all your acquaintances,” Hermione said, deciding the best tactic was politeness. Miss Abbott and Miss Bones both smiled at her, but Miss Greengrass didn’t, and Miss Bulstrode actually sneered.

“So, Lady Hermione,” said Miss Parkinson, who appeared to be the leader of their group. _“You’ve_ certainly kept busy since you’ve arrived here, haven’t you? Do tell us how you’ve managed to get yourself linked to three different eligible young men in the span of a month!”

“Three?” said Hermione, perplexed. Miss Parkinson looked only too delighted to elucidate her.

“Well, you were spotted in town with Mr. Weasley and his sister. Odd ducks, that family, but that may suit you, what with your upbringing!” She trilled out a laugh. “Not that I’m calling you odd, of course, just your circumstances.”

“Of course,” said Hermione.

“And then Mr. Potter danced with you at his ball, and he’s famous for his dislike of dancing. Never pays attention to any lady, in fact—except for you! And last but not least, Lord Draco Malfoy couldn’t seem to stop looking at you that night, now could he?” Here Miss Parkinson’s mouth turned downward. “However did someone such as you pull _that_ off?”

“I’m sure I have no idea,” said Hermione, laughing lightly. “Perhaps the gentlemen of this town are simply starved for some entertainment?”

Miss Parkinson raised her eyebrows. “Are you calling us boring? I would have thought that being of such _low_ birth originally, you would find our society quite exciting. Or is it too complex for you to understand?”

Sticking to her polite exterior, Hermione feigned shock. “Boring? Not at all! I only meant that I’m new here. That’s bound to turn everyone’s interest, especially that of the gentlemen.”

“It’s more your _inheritance_ that turns people’s interest,” cut in the square-jawed Miss Bulstrode. “The earldom of Gryffindor, Hogwarts Estate—why, you’ve surpassed Lady Lovegood for the most eligible heiress in town.”

“But of course you won’t actually _be_ inheriting!” cried Miss Greengrass, who had a very high, thin voice. “Because you’re—” she lowered her voice. _“Illegitimate.”_

“Oh, Daphne, I don’t think Lady Hermione would want to talk about—” began the kind-faced Miss Abbott, but Miss Parkinson shushed her, watching Hermione the way a snake might watch a vulnerable bird’s nest. “Yes, I’ve heard about that,” she said. “Your _unfortunate_ status. Your poor dear father, the earl, went and fathered you on some servant girl, was that it?”

“My mother was a baronet’s daughter,” said Hermione in a carefully controlled voice.

“Oh, same thing, really,” said Miss Parkinson dismissively. “Dreadfully common, I had heard. And much _younger_ than him, wasn’t she? Your father must have been at least sixty when he died, and you can’t be much more than twenty. Yet my mother knew yours growing up, and she isn’t yet forty…”

“I couldn’t say,” said Hermione. “I don’t know too much about the particulars.”

“Perfectly understandable,” said the blonde, sensible-looking Miss Bones, but Miss Bulstrode cut in again.

“But you must know _some_ things.”

“Yes,” said Miss Greengrass. “Do tell us, what _is_ going to happen to you? Because if you can’t inherit, why, you’re no one. Nothing. Back to how you were before.”

“I wasn’t _nothing_ before,” said Hermione, who was beginning to feel her composed civility slipping away from her. The three ladies gasped in pretended surprise.

“Of course you weren’t!” exclaimed Miss Parkinson.

“Never meant to say you were!” said Miss Greengrass.

“The question is, what are you _now?”_ inquired Miss Bulstrode.

“A lady,” said Hermione firmly, but Miss Greengrass shook her head.

“An _heiress._ Or _not?”_

“Yes, are you an heiress or not?” asked Miss Parkinson, looming over her with her mouth curled in a snake-like smile. Miss Greengrass and Miss Bulstrode chimed in. “Are you an heiress or not? What are you?” “Are you—” “What are—”

“Hermione!” said a voice suddenly, and a hand grasped her by the elbow. It was Ginny. “There you are! I need you at once, it’s most urgent.”

“Oh, Miss Weasley,” began Miss Parkinson, but Ginny was having none of it. “Hello, Pansy, good-bye, Pansy,” she said, and dragged Hermione away. Once they were well out of earshot, Hermione turned to her and pretended to swoon.

“My hero,” she said. “Thank you for saving me.”

“Any day, fair lady,” said Ginny, sweeping a bow. “Merl—My God, I loathe them. Miss Abbott and Miss Bones are nice enough, but the other three are purely venomous.”

“I noticed,” said Hermione. “Please don’t tell me everyone our age here is like that. I didn’t talk to many people at the ball, and I’m beginning to be glad of it.”

“Don’t worry, they’re not,” Ginny promised. “Miss Parkinson is just upset because Lord Malfoy paid you attention. She’s had her eye on him for years. It doesn’t help that you’re leagues prettier than she is.”

Hermione felt herself blush. “Thank you.”

“Well, it’s the truth,” said Ginny, blushing too. “Here, I’ll introduce you to Lady Luna.”

Lady Luna Lovegood was standing on the other end of the green from them, talking animatedly to a tall man who, Hermione realized as they drew closer, was Ron Weasley. As they watched, Lady Luna suddenly burst into laughter at something he had said. Her laugh was loud but pretty, as was she, and the way Ron smiled at her as she doubled over made her seem even prettier.

“Ahem,” said Ginny. Lady Luna turned and, seeing them, straightened up, still giggling. “Luna, this is Lady Hermione Granger of Gryffindor, my new friend. Hermione, the Lady Luna Lovegood.”

“Hello,” said Hermione, with some trepidation. Lady Luna smiled at her. Her eyes were large and slightly protuberant, giving her an air of innocence, and when she spoke, her voice was lilting and sweet. “It’s very good to meet you,” she said. “Ginny has spoken of you so often, I feel as though I already know you.”

“She has spoken very well of you, too,” said Hermione. Luna giggled again.

“I’ve heard about you from my cousin too, but in less glowing terms. Then again, Draco is never very _glowing_ about anything.”

“Will he be coming to this party?” asked Hermione anxiously. Luna nodded.

“Oh yes, he’s family, so I had to invite him. I understand why you’d want to stay away, but he’s not all bad once you get to know him. He can be very charming sometimes.”

“You’re too nice about people,” said Ron. “Lord Malfoy has all the charm of a dead mongoose. And he looks like one, too.”

Lady Luna erupted into a fresh wave of giggles, looking at Ron with such admiration that Hermione began to feel like they were intruding. Sensing this, Ginny looped her arm through Hermione’s and nodded farewell to Luna, who barely seemed to notice. “Ron looks stupid when he’s pining, doesn’t he,” Ginny sighed as she and Hermione walked away across the green. “Oh, well, he can’t help it.”

“Are they to be engaged, then?” Hermione asked. Ginny made a face.

“We’ll see. Luna is a marquess’ daughter, and his only child, so looking to be quite the heiress, sort of like you. And Ron and I, we’re not ranked in the peerage. So she _could_ marry him...but it would be a bit of a... _thing.”_

“Just like my parents,” said Hermione quietly. Ginny stopped walking and looked at her, troubled.

“Listen, Hermione, whatever Miss Parkinson said…”

At that moment, there was a ringing sound from behind them, and the two of them turned to see Lady Luna raising a glass. “I believe it’s time for the dancing to begin!” she called. “Everyone, come forward so I can pair you up!”

“Pair us up?” said Hermione. Ginny grinned.

“She claims her right as the hostess to pick the pairs to dance the Virginia Reel. It’s her excuse to ignore the popular rules—you know, paired up by rank—so she can dance with Ron. Come on, it will be fun, Luna will put us together.”

But when they reached Lady Luna, she pulled Ginny away from Hermione and pushed her toward Neville. “Sorry, but you’re the only one who’ll do it,” she said apologetically. Hermione glanced around in dismay, searching for who was left to partner her, but found no one. When she looked back at Luna, the other girl gave her a faint smile. “And that leaves you with…”

Already knowing, Hermione turned to face her partner: Lord Draco Malfoy. “Wonderful,” he said flatly, and the music began.

The Virginia Reel was a dance Hermione already knew, it having been one of the ones Ginny had taught to her several weeks ago. Gazing despondently down the line, Hermione realized she and Lord Malfoy were at the end of it, meaning they would have to endure at least five uninterrupted minutes of each other’s company before the dance finished. She groaned aloud.

“Unhappy about my company?” asked Lord Malfoy archly, as Ron and Luna began the dance. Hermione gave him an even stare.

“Yes, deeply.”

Lord Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “You know, most would be pleased about the opportunity to dance with me,” he said. “I believe many ladies would consider me a fine catch.”

“Well, I believe many ladies would consider you rude and arrogant,” said Hermione. “Perhaps we should take a poll and see who is correct?”

“What on Earth have I done to offend you so?” said Lord Malfoy, as they raised their linked hands to allow Ron and Luna to pass beneath them. Hermione gave him a disbelieving look.

“You mean you don’t remember calling me a bastard?”

“I _remember_ you attempting to strangle me in plain sight,” he responded. Hermione glared at him.

“That’s not what happened and you know it.”

“Then what _did_ happen?” asked Lord Malfoy. “Are you saying my cravat just tried to choke me to death of its own accord?”

“Can you blame it if it did?” said Hermione. “I would do the same if I were forced to be around you for such an extended amount of time.”

“Your judgement about me seems to have come on rather quickly, my lady,” said Lord Malfoy. “You know nothing about me, yet you are being most familiar in your rudeness. Need I remind you that as the legitimate son of a duke, I am your superior?”

“Those words from your mouth merely _confirm_ my judgement of you as a pretentious elitist,” said Hermione hotly. “I know as much about you as I ever need to.”

Instead of looking offended at her harsh words, Lord Malfoy seemed almost interested. “I may have underestimated you,” he said. “Not hard to do with someone so plain and uninspiring in appearance.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that my appearance was lacking,” said Hermione. “Ought I to mimic your attire and clothe myself like a child someone has dressed up for a funeral?”

At this, Lord Malfoy actually laughed. They had moved further down the line now, their acrimonious chatter seemingly unnoticed by the other dancers, who were all conversing and laughing as well. Hermione watched him in confusion. The more she insulted him, the more his attitude toward her softened, as though he found her brazenness entertaining.

“Tell me,” he said. “Now that you’ve wormed your way into our society, what do you intend to do when your supposed inheritance is inevitably withheld from you? Surely you won’t return to your little country town. Will you marry some older rich man, as your mother tried and failed to do?”

“Such meager insults,” said Hermione. “I expected more from the son of a duke. Really, Miss Parkinson’s were more barbed. But I _do_ appreciate your concern for my well being, it is _most_ touching.”

“Or perhaps you’ve already sunk your hooks into someone,” said Lord Malfoy. “I’ve been hearing much about your kindness and innocence lately, but my conversation with you so far has been the opposite of that. No one likes a deceiver.”

“Why, such meticulous morality!” exclaimed Hermione. “It speaks _miles_ to your character, Lord Malfoy.” She pretended to simper at him, and he grinned, like they were having an inside joke.

“You should call me Draco,” he said.

Hermione blinked at him, caught off guard. As they lowered their joined hands, she tried to formulate a response, but faces were turning expectantly toward them and she realized that the dance had finally come full circle. Moving automatically, Hermione stepped forward and linked arms with him, turning right and left as the dance called for it. Then hands raised above them and they ran together down the center lane while everyone dissolved into applause.

Head spinning, Hermione stared at Lord Malfoy as the dancers dispersed around them, still unsure of what to say. Before she got a chance, Mr. Potter appeared from the crowd, heading for Lord Malfoy. He stopped when he saw her. “Is there something...going on?” he said, glancing between them.

“No, there is _not,”_ Hermione said. Lord Malfoy put a hand to his heart.

“You wound me, my lady,” he said. “And here I was thinking we had something... _magical.”_

“Draco,” said Mr. Potter warningly. Hermione took a step backward, searching Lord Malfoy’s face.

“What did you say?”

“What do you think?”

Abruptly, Hermione spun on her heel and walked rapidly away from the two of them. She peered over people’s heads, scanning the party for the one person there she was sure she trusted. When she spotted a flash of red hair through a gap in the crowd, Hermione reached through and, taking hold of Ginny’s arm, pulled her away from the group and led her across the green.

“What’s wrong? Where are we going?” Ginny asked. “Did Lord Malfoy say something? Was it terrible? Should I murder him?”

“Yes and no,” said Hermione, searching for a place to talk to her where they wouldn’t risk being eavesdropped on by Miss Parkinson. She picked one of the white tents and dragged Ginny behind it, dropping down onto the grass as soon as they were out of sight. Ginny didn’t hesitate to sit down beside her. “What happened?”

“I don’t—I’m not sure,” said Hermione, and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t know what to think of anything.”

“They shall never find Lord Malfoy’s body,” Ginny decided. “What did he say to you?”

“Well, that’s the thing...first he asks me to call him Draco even though I tried to _strangle_ him last time we talked…”

“After you, I’m sorry, _what?”_

“And then he says…” Hermione trailed off. “Do you know how many strange visitors I’ve been getting? All these things keep happening, things I don’t know how to explain...and then there’s _you,_ too.”

“Me?” said Ginny.

“Yes, you!” said Hermione. “Why are you spending so much time with me? Did someone ask you to? To keep an eye on me? Because you _know,_ don’t you? And Lord Malfoy knows? And everyone knows, except me?”

“I…” said Ginny. “Yes, but I…I can’t _tell_ you, you understand, I can’t.” She looked agonized. “Hermione, please believe me, no one told me to spend time with you. I spend time with you because I _like_ you.”

“I like you too,” said Hermione faintly. She dropped her head into her hands. “Ginny, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, how I’m supposed to prove it...how this is all possible…it just doesn’t make any rational sense! And everything usually makes sense! Everything!”

“Hermione…” said Ginny, but Hermione went on, still speaking into her knees and beginning, for some reason, to shiver. “I don’t know anything whatsoever about my parents or my birth family, my aunt won’t say a word, and who knows if I’ll even be able to stay here long enough to find out about them or what’s going on because the solicitors still can’t decide whether or not I’m allowed to inherit the estate! It’s all so _frustrating!”_

“Hermione!” Ginny interrupted. _“Look!”_

Hermione raised her head—and gasped. It was snowing...only it _wasn’t_ snowing. There was snow all over the grass where she and Ginny sat, and heaps of it in both their hair, but the sun was still shining brightly and the rest of the lawn showed not a speck of white. Hermione leaped up and she and Ginny looked around to see snow falling from the sky above them, and nowhere else at all. “This is impossible,” whispered Hermione, as the white flakes drifted down. She turned to see Ginny smiling at her in triumph.

“Yes it is,” she said. “We need to go see your aunt _immediately.”_


	7. An Explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed, and an enemy makes herself known.

Snowflakes dusted Ginny’s shoulders and glittered in her hair like silver beads as she dragged Hermione across Lady Luna’s lawn. Hermione tried frantically to brush the snow away as they went, praying no one would notice the impossible substance and thanking God that it had stopped snowing around her—it would have been impossible to explain _that_ one.

_But I wouldn’t need to explain it,_ she thought suddenly. _Because they all know, don’t they?_

But know _what,_ exactly?

“Ginny,” she started, but Ginny had finally reached their destination and ignored her in favor of seizing Ron by the shoulder and pulling him around to face them. “Ron, I’m going with Hermione back to Hogwarts, send the carriage for me later,” she said in one breath.

“Going where? Why?” said Ron. “What’s in your hair, why’s it wet?”

“Snow,” said Ginny, as Luna peered at them with interest from beside Ron.

“But it’s not...oh,” said Ron, realization dawning. _“Oh.”_ He grinned at Hermione. “Brilliant.”

“Yes,” said Ginny. “So I’ll see you later.” She turned to Hermione. “Come on, let’s go.” Hermione followed her across the green, half-running to keep up and avoiding the eyes of the other party guests who were beginning to notice something was happening. “Ginny, can’t you tell me—?” she implored, as they hurried back toward where her carriage was waiting. Ginny shook her head rapidly.

“No, no, I can’t, don’t ask me! If you ask me I’ll tell and then I’ll do it wrong and your aunt will kill me and besides, I think it’s against the law!”

“The _law?”_

“Don’t ask me questions!” Ginny wailed.

“All right, all right,” said Hermione, as they finally boarded the carriage and took their seats, Ginny practically hopping up and down with impatience. Her anticipation was infectious, and Hermione could feel her heartbeat begin to speed up as they rode. The trip back to Hogwarts was a thousand anxious years long, and when the estate finally came into view she and Ginny tumbled out of the carriage before it had fully stopped. Dashing up the stairs, Ginny pounded on the doors until they swung open.

“What on Earth—?” began Hermione’s aunt, but stopped short when she saw who it was and looked at Ginny expectantly. “So?”

“Yes!” said Ginny. “Definitely yes!”

Hermione’s aunt positively beamed. “Well don’t just stand there,” she said, and stepped back, letting the two young women inside. Hermione was now more anxious than ever and beginning to get annoyed.

“Is _anyone_ going to tell me what is going on?” she demanded.

“Yes, and quickly,” said her aunt. “Come through here.” She led Hermione and Ginny into the dining room and sat them both down at the table. Then, casting an imperious glance at the still-life on the wall, she snapped, “No more of that nonsense now.”

Instantly, fruit materialized inside the empty bowl. Hermione gasped, and then tried to gasp again but found herself entirely out of breath as the apples began to change color, from purple to pink to red and then back again. Mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, she turned to face her aunt and Ginny. “What…?” she managed to get out.

“Magic! It’s magic! You’re magic!” exclaimed Ginny, and then clamped her hands over her mouth. Shaking her head, Hermione’s aunt smiled.

“Yes,” she said. “It is my honor to inform you, Hermione Granger McGonagall, that you are a witch.”

“Me?” said Hermione. “Magic?”

And then it all fell into place.

Hermione couldn’t help herself. She burst into laughter. Taken aback, Ginny and her aunt stared at her in concern, but Hermione couldn’t seem to stop. As she kept laughing, growing increasingly more hysterical, their faces relaxed and they began to laugh too, until the room was ringing with the sound. “How...could...you?” Hermione asked once she could speak again. “I thought I was going insane! _Am_ I insane? Have I lost my mind?”

“You haven’t,” Ginny assured her. “We can prove it.”

Hermione held up her hands. “I don’t want any more proof for now,” she said. “Just...explain, please.”

“I can do that,” said her aunt, who was still chuckling softly. She straightened her spine and looked Hermione in the eyes. “You’re a witch,” she said. “You were born a witch, to a wizard father, although your mother possessed no magic. You were raised by what we in the wizarding world call Muggles, those without magical power. For a while, we thought you were also a Muggle, but certain events have transpired that prove you are…” she glanced at Ginny. “Not.”

“Not,” repeated Ginny emphatically. “She made it snow all around us, broad daylight otherwise. Impossible.”

“Wonderful,” said her aunt.

“So, just to confirm,” said Hermione. “I’m...magic. You’re magic. Everyone I’ve met this past month, those strange visitors, the servants…?” her aunt nodded. “This house…?”

_“Very_ magic,” said Ginny.

“I see,” said Hermione. She glanced over at the painting of the city and saw that all the painted people were waving madly at her from inside their frame. Feeling slightly lightheaded, Hermione waved back.

“You’re taking this better than I thought,” said Ginny, sounding impressed.

“Well, I’ve had time to adjust to the idea that _something_ impossible was going on,” said Hermione. “Really, “secret magical world” is tamer than a few of my other theories. I could have done without the questioning-my-sanity part, though.”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” said her aunt. “You have to understand that the rules are very strict. The last witch burnings were less than a century ago, and though the punishment for revealing our kind to Muggles is very strict, it is seldom necessary. We have lost many.” Her aunt looked sad. “Even in cases such as these, where we were relatively sure you would not reveal us to the non-magical world even if you were a Muggle, we could not risk telling you.”

“But what if I _hadn’t_ been magic?” said Hermione, starting to laugh again. “How on Earth were you going to explain it all? I mean, the house, the ball, all the strange things…”

“I knew you were,” said her aunt. “I was certain of it, with your father’s blood in you, and my husband’s. I was just waiting for something to happen to prove it.”

“Something did happen,” said Hermione, grinning. “Before this. I wish I had told you earlier—I accidentally strangled Draco Malfoy a bit. I didn’t mean to, I was just so frustrated, and then all of a sudden his cravat was growing tighter and tighter…”

“He deserved it, I’m sure,” said her aunt, as Ginny burst into giggles. “We all do similar things when we have no vessel to channel our power into. Haven’t you had things happen to you before this as well, things you couldn’t explain?”

“Yes,” said Hermione quietly. “I have.”

“Then you see,” said her aunt, smiling at her. Hermione smiled back. She kept expecting to feel dreamy, or disconnected, or doubtful, but none of those things were true. Instead she felt _right,_ as though something inside her had finally clicked into place.

But then her smile slid from her face as she recalled something her aunt had said. “Aunt McGonagall, you mentioned my mother…” she said cautiously.

“Yes,” said her aunt, her smile turning sad. “Yes. Dear Malina. She was a family friend, but the Lucases had no magic in them, not a trace. That was the real reason your father could not marry her. For a wizard to marry a Muggle requires a certain sacrifice, one your father was not willing to make or have your mother make. I assume he hoped you would not share his power, but of course, he was foolish to have such a hope. Magical blood runs strong.”

“Was she…” Hermione trailed off, then spoke again. “When she died, was she my age?”

“Older, but only by two years,” said her aunt. “You may form your own opinions on that score, but do not judge too quickly. There is one who I hope for you to someday speak with who will be able to answer every question you have about your mother better than I could hope to.” Hermione nodded, accepting this. Her aunt continued. “Speaking of, this whole business with your inheritance—it’s certain to speed up now. We couldn’t give you Hogwarts if you weren’t magical, it simply would have been impossible.”

“I can understand that,” said Hermione, glancing wryly at the paintings.

“But now, of course, Dolores Umbridge will appear.” Her aunt made a face like she had just eaten something very sour, and Ginny gagged aloud.

“Who’s Dolores Umbridge?” Hermione wanted to know.

“The High Inquisitor,” said her aunt. “She’s a representative from the Ministry of Magic who oversees this particular district. She has an eye for Hogwarts in particular—we do not exactly get along.”

“Why?”

“I believe, in my letter to you, I mentioned that your father had been previously engaged, and had broken that engagement upon the death of your mother?”

“Yes…” said Hermione. Her aunt winced.

“Her.”

“Ah,” said Hermione. “I can see why that would be a sore point. What’s she like, then?”

“Oh, I can tell you that,” said Ginny. She puffed herself up like a toad and put on a high, mincing voice. “Miss Weasley, how _did_ your dress get so muddy? A lady does not jump in puddles, it is most unbecoming! Oh! A lady does not speak out of turn! Wait until I have addressed you directly! Oh! Is that _fun_ you’re having? You must stop at _once!”_

Hermione’s aunt shook her head, trying not to smile. “Most accurate, Miss Weasley, although I must once again urge you not to do that anywhere near where she can hear you.” Ginny shrugged, grinning. Hermione’s aunt turned back to her. “Dolores Umbridge loathes all things improper and unseemly, even in the slightest. She is stridently moral and principled to the point of obstinacy.”

“She won’t like me then,” said Hermione bracingly. “For more reasons than one.”

“I should hope not,” said McGonagall. “But, unfortunately, I think she’ll do everything in her power to stop you from inheriting. However, that is a problem for another day.” She stood and beckoned them forward. “For now, Hermione, I believe you should go upstairs and have a rest, and then you may come down and ask me any questions still remaining to you. And Miss Weasley, I believe that’s your carriage outside.”

Ginny pushed back her chair. “Bye, then, Hermione. I’ll see you soon.”

“Do!” said Hermione, waving her off. As soon as the doors closed behind her, Hermione’s aunt gave her an appraising look.

“Feeling all right?” she asked.

“I think so,” said Hermione, remarkably steadily. Her aunt looked proud.

“I knew you had it in you,” she said. “Now go upstairs, dear, and take a few minutes to yourself. You can come down whenever you’re ready. I’ll have some tea waiting.”

“Thank you, Aunt McGonagall,” said Hermione, and sketched her best curtsey. Then she ascended the stairs to her room two at a time, finding the correct hallway with no trouble at all. Instead of mocking her, the house now seemed to be laughing with her, as though it had brought her in on the joke. Hermione closed the door behind her and leaned against it, sliding slowly to the ground. “Magic,” she whispered.

After a few moments, she began to laugh again and did not stop until, from somewhere else in the vast estate, she heard the grandfather clock begin to chime the hour.

  


_Dear Mother and Father,_

_I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. Things with the inheritance are going slower than planned, but I have a feeling it’s all going to speed up soon, and you’ll be able to come and visit. A lot has happened, most of it very good. Hogwarts Estate is all that I imagined it to be, and much more. I’ll explain everything when you arrive, but trust that it is very exciting._

_I remain your loving daughter,_

_Hermione._

Hermione signed the letter with a flourish and set down her pen. “Lavender,” she called. “I’ve finished my letter.”

A second later, her lady’s maid stuck her head through the doorway. “Good timing,” she said. “I’ve just heard someone at the door. It’s probably Miss Weasley.”

“Oh, wonderful,” said Hermione, handing Lavender the letter and standing up from her desk. “I feel as though it’s been forever.” She hurried to the door of her room and peered over the stair-railing, seeing that Sir Nicholas was about to open the estate’s doors. “Is that Miss Weasley?” she called down to him.

“Most likely. You two can’t go a week without each other, can you?” said Sir Nicholas, glancing through the eyehole of the door. Suddenly he paled. “Oh, dear. My lady, go back to your room and put on your gloves.”

“Why? Ginny doesn’t care if I wear gloves,” said Hermione, flummoxed. Sir Nicholas shook his head.

“It’s not Miss Weasley. It’s Miss Umbridge.”

The knock came again, more insistent this time. Without another word, Hermione fled back to her room and began rummaging through her dresser drawers. Lavender looked around in surprise. “What is it?”

“It’s not Ginny, it’s Miss Umbridge,” wailed Hermione. “I’m a fright. Where are my gloves? Where’s my hat? We haven’t even done my hair!”

“My lady, this is why you have a wand,” said Lavender. Remembering, Hermione snatched up her newly fashioned wand from her bedside table and flourished it at her dresser.

_“Accio gloves!”_

The gloves sailed neatly toward her from the back of one of the drawers and Hermione caught them in her free hand. Lavender applauded. “You’re coming on so well!”

“Thank you, I haven’t slept in days,” said Hermione, wrenching on the gloves as she heard the doors open from downstairs. “How do I look? Presentable?”

“Passable,” said Lavender. Hermione hurried back out the door and started to dash down the stairs, but stopped herself in the nick of time. Backtracking, she straightened her spine and began to descend in her most sophisticated, ladylike manner. _Show her you’re a proper lady,_ she told herself. _Not some bastard country girl. Well, you are that. But you’re a lady too._

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Hermione was greeted by the sight of a short, stout woman in a dress so bright pink it was blinding. Sir Nicholas was offering to take her coat, but the woman waved his hand away, saying, “I am sure I shall not be staying long!” in a voice uncannily like the one Ginny had put on to mimic her days earlier. Pressing her lips together so as not to laugh, Hermione waited for her aunt, who had just come around the corner, to introduce her.

“Dolores,” said her aunt, plastering on her best false smile.

“Minerva,” said Miss Umbridge, finally turning to face them. Hermione had to pinch herself very hard to keep her expression neutral. Miss Umbridge’s features were unfortunately reminiscent of a toad, and that, paired with her odd voice and dress, gave off an effect so ridiculous Hermione struggled to see why her aunt had seemed so bothered by her coming. “It is so good to see you after so long.”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it?” said her aunt.

“Oh, yes. It always seems like so much changes while I’m away—not always for the better, I must say!” She gave a high laugh, eyes sweeping the hall until they landed on Hermione. “Is this her?”

“Yes, this is my niece, the Lady Hermione Granger. Hermione, Miss Umbridge.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said Hermione, and bobbed a slightly too enthusiastic curtsey. She overbalanced and caught the stair railing to keep from falling. Miss Umbridge gave a saccharine smile.

“A pleasure indeed,” she said, then addressed Hermione’s aunt. “How long has she been staying here with you?”

“About a month,” said her aunt. “I have been giving her etiquette lessons—”

“Hmm, and so little learned in all that time,” interrupted Miss Umbridge. “Her comportment, her speech, her dress…” She leveled a look at Hermione’s hands, and, glancing down, Hermione realized her gloves were on inside out. She quickly hid them behind her back. Miss Umbridge’s smile widened. “We shall need to fix all that up before we can think of the inheritance issue.”

“But of course, you have no say in that, Dolores,” said Hermione’s aunt pointedly. Miss Umbridge gave another tinkling laugh.

“Oh, we shall see, Minerva...we shall see what I have to say...I do have the ear of the Minister, after all, and a _history_ with this estate…and I can already tell Miss—that is, _Lady_ Granger will need the _sharpest_ training in the area of decorum, something I will be only too happy to provide.”

“Have you brought a tutor with you?” Hermione asked, nonplussed. Her aunt winced slightly and Miss Umbridge turned, very slowly, to face Hermione. The look she gave Hermione was malevolent, almost dangerous, and Hermione suddenly felt nothing at all like laughing.

“I meant myself, actually,” said Miss Umbridge. “And I can see we shall have a lot of work to do.”


	8. An Enchantress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watershed moments occur in several of Hermione's relationships.

_“Alohomora,”_ said Hermione firmly.

Nothing happened.

“Try it with a little more conviction,” came her aunt’s voice. “Say it like you expect something to happen, not like you’re hoping it will.”

Mustering her will, Hermione stared at the locked door before her and imagined it swinging open. _“Alohomora,”_ she repeated, with as much confidence as she could manage. With a faint _click,_ the door swung open, revealing Hermione’s aunt on the other side, beaming.

“You’re doing splendidly,” she said.

“I told you I was a quick learner,” Hermione replied, straightening up. Her aunt patted her shoulder fondly.

“You are, indeed. Practically a prodigy.”

“I wish Miss Umbridge thought the same,” said Hermione glumly, as she stepped past her aunt and into the parlour, giving a halfhearted wave to Myrtle, who was dusting. “Instead she behaves as though I were the biggest idiot there ever was.”

“Now, now, it’s not going that badly, is it?” said her aunt in concern, handing Hermione a cup of tea. Hermione took it and flung herself into her favorite armchair.

“It is,” she said. “No matter what I do she always manages to find fault in it. I thought you had taught me quite enough about decorum, but she keeps coming up with new, more obscure rules that she says I should be following. She’s even talking of getting me a backboard to improve my apparently atrocious posture.”

“Not on my watch,” said her aunt. “I won’t let you be strapped to one of those torture devices if I have anything to say about it.”

“And what’s more, she keeps sneaking in snide little comments about the people I happen to mention,” said Hermione. “I don’t mind her insulting me but I won’t stand for her calling Ginny a ragamuffin, or Mr. Longbottom an imbecile.” She took another sip of tea. “Speaking of, how is Mr. Longbottom? He hasn’t been by in almost a full day, I’m beginning to get concerned.”

“Poor boy,” said her aunt, chuckling. “You know it isn’t his fault.”

“I know,” said Hermione with a sigh. “It _is_ tiring, though.”

It was, though her aunt was right; Mr. Longbottom couldn’t exactly help it. His near-constant visits were at the behest of his law firm, who daily seemed to have a new query or concern about the will that needed her aunt’s immediate attention. Hermione and her aunt suspected that Miss Umbridge was somehow involved in this matter, but had no way to prove it. Besides, they were both a bit relieved that _something_ seemed to be happening at last. Hermione had arrived at Hogwarts in the first week of November. It was now the third week of December, and they were hardly closer to determining what was to become of her inheritance.

“At least Miss Umbridge doesn’t come for lessons on weekends,” said Hermione. “Thank God for small mercies.”

“Ah, that reminds me,” said her aunt. “Don’t you have an appointment at Rook Place this afternoon?”

“Oh, right,” said Hermione, sitting up in her chair. “I’d quite forgotten.”

The social season was still in progress, and if it hadn’t been for Ginny, Ron, and Lady Luna, Hermione feared she might have gone a bit insane from the combined pressure of the will, Miss Umbridge’s lessons, and her magical training. As it was, her three friends had taken it upon themselves to lessen her burdens as much as possible, sticking close by her side at social events and inviting her over at least once a week.

“Do have fun,” said her aunt now. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“You? Suggesting fun? Are you feeling ill?”

“I’m very fun,” said her aunt. “Now hand me my knitting and go.”

“Ah, knitting, the epitome of a good time,” said Hermione, as she passed her aunt the yarn.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t been eyeing my needles,” said her aunt. “I’ll teach you a few patterns when you get back. You can make yourself a nice scarf.”

“Scarves do scream ‘fun,’ don’t they?”

“I never should have taken you in,” responded her aunt dryly. Hermione laughed aloud as she stood to go. Hesitating at the doorway, she looked back at her aunt and said, “Aunt McGonagall?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

Her aunt glanced up and flashed her a small smile. “You’re welcome, dear. Now go on, I can’t stand the sight of you any longer.”

Grinning, Hermione let the door close behind her.

  


When she arrived at Rook Place, Hermione was puzzled to find an unfamiliar carriage waiting there already. It was too fancy to belong to the Weasleys, and it did not bear the seal that would have signified it as the Duke of Malfoy’s, so she had no idea to whom it could belong. Giving the vehicle a slight berth, Hermione hurried up the path and pushed open the estate’s doors. No servant was waiting to welcome her, but she did not question it. The miracle of Rook Place was that it rarely met any expectations placed upon it.

In the previous few weeks, Hermione had gotten to know Lady Luna and her home rather well, but there were things about the Lovegoods even magic could not fully explain. Luna’s father, the marquess, was withdrawn and reclusive, and Lady Luna herself was constantly coming up with odd theories and inventions, each wilder than the next. Hermione found things usually went best when she simply did not question the other girl’s strange ideas.

“Luna?” she called now, voice echoing off the walls. “Ginny? Hello?”

From behind her, someone cleared their throat, and Hermione turned, expecting to see Ron. The voice, however, belonged not to Ron but to Mr. Potter, who gave her a faint smile. “Er, hello.”

“Hello,” said Hermione cautiously. “That’s your carriage outside, then?”

“Yes, it’s mine,” said Mr. Potter, who, for some reason, was half-crouched behind a large vase and speaking in quiet tones. Hermione mimicked him, talking in a low voice as she approached.

“I wasn’t aware you would be coming.”

“Ginny invited me,” said Mr. Potter. “She mentioned you were coming, and I have been meaning to apologize.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking highly uncomfortable. “What I said at my ball, about you being hysterical, it was uncalled for and completely dense of me. I’m very sorry.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, slightly surprised. Although she remembered the incident with perfect clarity, she found that she couldn’t quite find it in her to remain annoyed with him—Mr. Potter’s expression was too sincere. “Don’t worry about it,” she found herself saying. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” said Mr. Potter, looking relieved.

“By the way,” said Hermione, speaking in her normal voice. “Why are we whisper—”

“Aha!” came a voice from about them. Hermione looked up to see Ginny on the stairs above them, her wand held aloft. _“Locomotor Wibbly!”_

With an _oomph,_ Harry’s legs went out from under him and he fell to the floor in a heap. Ginny burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the hall, and Hermione smiled automatically, the sound of Ginny’s voice enough to make her feel lighter already. Ginny bounded down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and flung her arms around Hermione when she reached the bottom. “How have you been?” she asked. “She-devil not torturing you too badly?”

“I’m better now I get to see you,” said Hermione, hugging Ginny back. Ron and Luna appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Ginny takes this round too,” said Ron gloomily. “Come on, we have to put on a better showing. She’s the youngest here, for goodness’ sake.”

“What are we doing?” Hermione asked.

“We’re playing Jinxes,” said Luna merrily.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a _children’s_ game,” said Harry, wobbling to his feet. His legs had gone bendy and he was struggling to stay upright. “A children’s dueling game that Ginny wanted to play even though we’re all too old—”

“You’re only twenty, not some boring adult,” said Ginny. “And don’t pretend you weren’t having fun.” She turned to Hermione. “Won’t you play? It _is_ technically a children’s game and it _is_ rather improper, but who really cares about all that?”

“I don’t,” said Hermione. “Teach me the rules and I’ll best you all. I don’t know many jinxes, though.”

“Only silly ones are allowed,” said Ron. “Jelly-Legs, like Ginny just used on Harry. Or Tickling, like she used on me.” He shot Ginny a dirty look. “You can have the corner by the balcony, it’s the best one.”

The rules to Jinxes turned out to be very simple. Each player was stationed in a corner of the house, and their objective was to prevent anyone from claiming it through any means necessary. The game was won when one player had claimed all corners by casting their color sparks over it, or when all players had been jinxed too thoroughly to continue. Hermione, once left to her corner, decided the best strategy was probably to stay and defend it instead of going on the offensive, but this idea soon proved fatally boring.

Hermione did not know Rook Place well, so for a while she was stuck wandering through dark halls, but eventually she heard noises and crept around the corner. Thinking she recognized Ginny’s voice, she was preparing to leap out and reveal herself when there came a sudden shriek and thump. “Harry!” came a voice, and then Ginny’s distinctive laugh sounded from nearby. “How _could_ you!”

Hermione peered around the corner to see Mr. Potter dash down the hall to help a wobbly Ginny up from the floor. “Poetic justice,” he said. “You hex me, I hex you.”

“Cruel and unusual,” said Ginny, but she was beaming at him. For some reason, watching the scene made Hermione feel quite uncomfortable, almost nauseous. This feeling only worsened when Ginny wrapped her arm around Harry’s shoulders as he supported her on her unsteady legs, and suddenly, Hermione couldn’t stand to watch a moment longer. She turned away, meaning to go back to her corner, but just then she heard her name called. “I heard something,” said Ginny. “Hermione? Is that you?”

 _Oh, no,_ thought Hermione, not wanting to talk to the two of them. The halls were dark, and she groped frantically along the wall, searching for an escape. When her hand finally met metal she gripped it gratefully and pushed, finding herself in a dim room full of books. Letting the door swing shut behind her, Hermione exhaled a deep breath.

“Lady Hermione?”

Hermione startled horribly, spinning around. “Lord Malfoy!” she exclaimed, trying to keep her voice low. “Why—what—”

“I thought I told you to call me Draco,” said Lord Malfoy calmly. He was seated carelessly on top of one of the tables, a book open on his lap.

“What on Earth are you doing here?” Hermione hissed at him.

“I could ask you the same.”

“I asked first,” said Hermione, crossing her arms. Draco’s mouth quirked up in a smile.

“My cousin told me she had company over,” he said. “I didn’t realize company meant you.”

“Well, sorry to be such a disappointment,” said Hermione, pulling out one of the wooden chairs and taking a seat.

“You aren’t a disappointment,” said Draco. “In fact, I find you very interesting.”

“Oh really? Is that why you were so rude to me at the ball?”

“I didn’t think you were interesting then.”

Hermione tilted her head to the side. “What, so people are only worth something once they pique your venerated interest, is that it?”

“Something like that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked away. After a few moments of silence, her curiosity got the best of her and she said, “What are you doing in here, anyway?”

“Reading,” said Draco, holding up his book for her to see. “What are you doing in here?”

“Hiding,” said Hermione honestly. Draco gave her a half-smile.

“Not fun being left out, is it?”

“What would you know about it?” said Hermione. Draco shrugged.

“Maybe I know more than you think.” After a pause, he said, “I’m sorry for the way I treated you before.”

“You should be. People don’t only have value by being interesting. They have value just by being people.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Draco. Hermione uncrossed her arms, her mood toward him softening.

“What book is that?” she asked. Draco held out the book to her, and Hermione got up from her chair and walked over to him, taking the book and examining it carefully. _“Ivanhoe,”_ she read aloud. “I haven’t read it.”

“You should. You might like it,” said Draco. Hermione looked up to see that he had leaned forward slightly to look at the cover, and their heads were now very close together. She froze, unsure whether or not to pull away.

At that moment, the door to the library swung open. “Hermione?” said a voice, and Ginny stuck her head inside. On seeing Hermione and Draco, she pulled back. “Oh, I—Lord Malfoy—”

“Miss Weasley,” said Draco, sitting up immediately. Ginny glanced between the two of them and then quickly closed the door. Hermione shoved _Ivanhoe_ back into Draco’s hands and followed.

“Ginny—” she said, hurrying down the hall after her. “Ginny, wait.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” said Ginny, not slowing her pace.

“You weren’t, nothing was going on.”

“It looked like something. You don’t have to lie to me.”

“Good, because I wasn’t,” said Hermione. “Ginny—” She reached out and caught the other girl by the arm, pulling her around to face her. “It isn’t like that with us.”

“I know he likes books,” said Ginny suddenly. “And he’s very smart. And Luna says he thinks you’re interesting.”

“What does any of that matter?” said Hermione impatiently.

“You like books.”

“Yes, but I don’t like _him,”_ said Hermione. “Besides, I’m not the one who—what about you and Harry?”

Ginny looked surprised. “Me? And Harry? Merlin, no. He’s a good friend.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes, of course,” said Ginny, biting her lip. “I don’t—I mean…” She trailed off. “It isn’t like that, with us.”

“Exactly,” said Hermione emphatically. Ginny’s eyes scanned her face, and then her expression softened.

“Well, good,” she said.

“Good,” repeated Hermione. She and Ginny were standing very close together now. There were several moments of silence; Hermione’s heart was beating very hard in her chest, and her lungs felt constricted, like at any moment she could suffocate. Instead of doing that, she leaned forward and kissed Ginny full on the mouth.

Ginny made a small, surprised noise in the back of her throat, but did not move away from the kiss. After a few seconds, Hermione pulled back. Her face felt as though it were on fire.

“Oh,” said Ginny, who was also blushing. Before either of them could say anything more, a bright light appeared at one end of the hall and three figures came hurrying toward them.

“Ginny’s winning streak is finally over!” Ron declared. “Well done, Lady Hermione!” He frowned as they came closer to the pair. “Is everything all right with you two?”

But to that question, Hermione was afraid she had no answer.


	9. An Échéance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione faces a difficult choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _échéance_ \- French. "deadline."

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she was greeted by a dusty silence. Yawning, she stood and drew back the curtains, surprised to realize she had slept for at least twelve hours—the sun’s position in the sky told her it was nearly midday. There was no sign of Lavender around to help her dress, and when Hermione went downstairs Sir Nicholas was not there to give her his usual greeting. As she walked through the corridors, Hermione found that all the portrait frames were conspicuously empty. This could only mean one thing.

_She_ was here.

“Merlin’s pants,” Hermione said quietly, picking up a swear she’d heard Ron and Ginny utter. Miss Umbridge usually only came on weekdays, and for her to be here on a Sunday could not possibly bode well. Hermione was just wondering whether she could get away with hiding upstairs for the rest of the day when a door opened further down the hall and her aunt appeared.

“Oh, good, I was just going to go and wake you,” she said. “I let you sleep as long as I could, but…” She shook her head. “Well, come in.”

Dread curdled in the pit of Hermione’s stomach, and as she approached her aunt she saw a similar feeling reflected on the other woman’s face. The room she beckoned Hermione into wasn’t one Hermione had ever been in before. It was a study, a small, windowless one that had clearly not been used in some time. As Hermione entered she realized with a jolt that it had probably belonged to her father. The thought might have given her more pause, had she not been so distracted by the three other occupants of the room.

“Hello,” said the man seated behind the desk in the center of the room. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Remus Lupin, of Lupin and Longbottom Law.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Hermione. Mr. Lupin had sandy brown hair and a prematurely lined face. His eyes were dark-circled but kind, and when he smiled at her, Hermione noted that his teeth were even and very white.

“I believe you already know my young associate,” he said.

“Oh yes,” said Hermione. “Hello, Mr. Longbottom.”

Neville was seated on a rickety chair in a far corner of the room, as far from Miss Umbridge as he could manage. He gave her a weak smile. Miss Umbridge herself made a quiet _hem, hem,_ noise in her throat, and Mr. Lupin turned to her. “And, of course, you are well-acquainted with Miss Umbridge.”

“That is so,” said Hermione, avoiding Miss Umbridge’s gaze. “May I ask exactly what is going on here…?”

“Please, sit,” said Mr. Lupin, gesturing to the two plump armchairs that had been placed in front of the desk. Miss Umbridge was seated in one of these armchairs as well, but had pulled hers around the desk so that it was next to Mr. Lupin’s, a fact he did not look very happy about. Hermione and her aunt took their seats, and Hermione clasped her hands together in her lap, hoping she did not look as unnerved as she felt.

“So, Lady Hermione,” Mr. Lupin began. “I should first begin by asking you just how much you know about the matter of your inheritance.”

“Not as much as I would like to,” said Hermione honestly. “I know it’s taking a very long time to sort out.”

“Yes, our apologies for the delay,” said Mr. Lupin, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Of course, some of that was due to the need to wait for your magical abilities to present themselves. Congratulations, by the way. I have heard you are coming along very well for one not raised in our world.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione, beaming. That Mr. Lupin was aware of her skill meant that her aunt had taken the time to boast about her accomplishments to others, a fact not lost on Hermione. She cast a sideways smile at her aunt, who pretended not to notice.

“Actually, that is related to the...larger issue with your father’s will,” Mr. Lupin continued. “Magic has always played a large role in wizarding inheritance law, and in several cases, magical ability has been known to take precedence over actual blood relation. Luckily for you, you are both a witch and a direct descendant of the late earl. Unfortunately, you are also…”

“A bastard,” said Miss Umbridge. Mr. Lupin winced.

“I was going to say illegitimate.”

“Oh, why don’t we call a spade a spade, Remus,” said Miss Umbridge. She was smiling at Hermione in a distinctly wolfish manner. Hermione tried very hard not to squirm under her gaze. “Lady—or should I say _Miss_ Granger was not the result of a legitimate union between her parents. She is not even pure-blooded.”

“Now, I don’t see why _that_ should matter, Dolores,” said Hermione’s aunt harshly. “My niece has magical ability as strong as any I have ever seen, pure-blooded or not. And Hogwarts Estate likes her.”

“Which is another important consideration to make,” Mr. Lupin jumped in. “Ancient magical buildings such as this manor are known to be temperamental. Indeed, if your father’s will were to be violated and the house passed to another who was not of his blood, the results could be...less than ideal.” Something about the way he said this made Hermione think that he had noticed the empty picture frames on the walls, too.

_“However,”_ said Miss Umbridge. “The law cannot simply be ignored. If we made exceptions for you just because Hogwarts _likes_ you, why, we’d be making exceptions for everyone, and we can’t have that. The law _must_ be upheld.”

At this, Hermione’s aunt had had enough. “Oh, don’t try and pretend this isn’t personal, Dolores,” she snapped. “The law this, the law that—we both know you could not care less. You’ve borne a grudge against this house and this family ever since Irving chose Malina over you.”

Miss Umbridge swelled with anger, making her resemblance to a toad even more striking. “Mark my words, Minerva. If Irving McGonagall hadn’t let a pretty young _common_ girl cloud his head like the old fool he was, he would have married me and been the better for it. I hope you haven’t fooled yourself into thinking his _dalliance_ with her was anything like love.”

“I haven’t fooled myself into anything,” said Hermione’s aunt. “I know it for a fact. And _you_ mark _my_ words: Irving breaking his engagement with you was the best thing that has ever happened to this family.” She turned to Hermione. “Except for you, my dear.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione, touched.

“Minerva McGonagall, your disrespect goes too far,” Miss Umbridge began, but Mr. Lupin rapped loudly on the desk with his knuckles.

“Mrs. McGonagall, Miss Umbridge—please,” he said. “This is a matter of importance. Let us comport ourselves as such.”

Hermione’s aunt and Miss Umbridge shot each other nasty looks but said no more. Hermione glanced over at Mr. Longbottom, who was still seated in the corner. He nodded at her aunt and raised his eyebrows in amazement. Hermione widened her eyes, agreeing.

“Now, Lady Hermione,” said Mr. Lupin, and Hermione turned her attention back to him. “As we have established, your magical ability, blood relation, and connection to Hogwarts are all points in your favor. Your illegitimacy is a major point against. However, our firm, as longtime solicitors of your father’s family, do not desire to see his wishes abandoned. We are not Muggles; our laws are more flexible, more subject to interpretation.”

Hermione’s heart swelled with hope. With each new word Mr. Lupin spoke, Miss Umbridge looked more murderous and Hermione’s aunt more delighted. For a moment, it all seemed terribly possible.

“And yet Miss Umbridge is right in one regard,” said Mr. Lupin, and Hermione’s hopes went crashing to the floor. “The law is the law, and illegitimate children inheriting is not something we can justify outright. Therefore, we have come up with a provision to the will, one we think fair, and not too out of accordance with your father’s wishes.” He took a deep breath. “Marriage.”

_“What?”_ said Hermione and her aunt in unison.

“Marriage,” repeated Mr. Lupin. “To an individual of magical ability, to be announced before the new year.”

“The new year?” Hermione exclaimed. “But there are barely two weeks left of December!”

Mr. Lupin looked regretful. “We cannot put it off any longer. Hogwarts Estate is currently in limbo. If an inheritor is not declared soon, it will be as though your father died intestate, and the lands will be transferred to the Ministry. You will return to Eastwhich—”

“Eastworth,” said Hermione.

“—Eastworth. Your aunt will no longer be allowed here either since your late uncle was never Earl of Gryffindor and his widow, therefore, would not have rights to this estate.” Mr. Lupin gave Hermione’s aunt an apologetic look, and she nodded curtly.

“So, to clear things up—if I become engaged to marry a wizard by the end of December, I’ll get Hogwarts,” said Hermione.

“Yes. Although technically you will still be illegitimate, your husband will not be, and as your lands and goods will become his, you may jointly inherit Hogwarts.”

“And if I don’t find anyone…?” said Hermione, but she already knew the answer. Mr. Lupin gave her a grim smile.

“Then Hogwarts Estate will be lost to you. Forever.”

  


“Well, I think we can definitively say that it’s hopeless,” said Hermione, as she stared into the fire. “I might as well just go home now.”

“This _is_ your home,” said Hermione’s aunt, but even she sounded defeated.

Mr. Lupin and Mr. Longbottom had left several hours ago, extending their deepest apologies to a shell-shocked Hermione and her aunt. “If there was any other way I could do this, I would,” Mr. Lupin had said, seeming sincerely regretful. Hermione shook her head.

“Thank you for trying,” she had said hollowly, and with one final bow, the solicitors were gone. Miss Umbridge might have lingered longer—Hermione could tell she was simply itching to rub her victory in their faces—but the look on Hermione’s aunt’s face must have persuaded her to wait until later, and she swept out too, an expression of triumph etched on her toad-like face.

That left Hermione and her aunt to retreat to the parlour. As they sat before the crackling fire, Hermione remembered the first time the two of them had convened in this room, the day after her whole life had been turned on its head. So many things had changed since then that the thought of returning to Eastworth now seemed foreign. But what other option did she have?

“Do you remember what you told me when we first spoke in here?” said Hermione into the silence.

“That you would not be forced into a marriage contract if I had anything to say about it,” said her aunt heavily. “And here we are. My dear, I have failed you.”

“No, Aunt McGonagall,” said Hermione. “I’ve failed myself. I raised my hopes too high. I can’t believe I ever let myself think I belonged here. I should have known better.”

“We must not abandon hope,” said her aunt, but Hermione sighed.

“What hope is there? They have trapped me well. I cannot imagine anyone who would wish to marry me even if I do bring an estate with me. And there is no one I wish to marry except—no one.” She stood up from her chair. “I’m going to bed.”

“It’s barely evening. What about supper? Did you even eat lunch?”

“I’m not hungry,” said Hermione, and left before her aunt could say anything else. Once in her room, Hermione threw herself face down onto the bed and simply lay there. She felt like crying, but no tears came. Eventually, she gave up and rolled over.

Staring at the ceiling, Hermione realized how much she was going to miss Hogwarts Estate and her life there. She’d miss living in the magnificent manor. She’d miss learning its secrets and earning its trust. She would miss doing magic, and seeing magic, and _being magical._ But most of all, she’d miss the people she had met because of Hogwarts: her aunt, who hadn’t been required to love her but did anyway. Ron, and Luna, who had let her into their world without question. Harry and Mr. Longbottom and everyone she hadn’t had time to befriend. Draco, who she was just beginning to know.

And Ginny most of all. Ginny, who had danced into Hermione’s life when she’d needed her most. Ginny, who had lifted her out of uncertainty. Ginny, who always made her laugh, who taught her how to be braver every day. Ginny, the most beautiful girl in the world, who sent sparks down Hermione’s arm when she touched her, whose smile made Hermione smile too.

Ginny, who probably hated her now.

Hermione covered her eyes with her hands. _Why_ had she kissed Ginny, why had she ruined everything like that? Ginny hadn’t even been able to look at her for the rest of the time Hermione had spent at Rook Place that afternoon, hadn’t said goodbye when she’d left, and hadn’t reached out to her in the full day since. Hermione didn’t blame her. How could someone bright and shining like Ginny ever love someone dull and worthless like her?

Now the tears were coming. Hermione curled into a ball and put her arms over her head, trying to muffle the sobs. All the tears she had not cried when she had first arrived at Hogwarts were coming now, homesickness for a place she had not even left. Her aunt was right; this was her home now. This was her home, and it was being taken away.

When she finally stopped crying, Hermione knew what she had to do.

  


The carriage was cold and drafty, but Hermione kept the windows open, pressing her face against the pane until Hogwarts Estate was out of sight at last. Even then she did not close the shutters, relishing the shivers that shook her body every time the wind wailed outside.

She and her aunt had both wept when Hermione had said goodbye an hour earlier. Standing outside the manor’s doors, Hermione had promised that she would write, that she would come and visit her aunt in Scotland as often as she could. Then she had turned away and lifted her trunks in the carriage, unwilling to look back until she was inside it too. If she did, she feared she would not be able to leave.

For leave she must. Hermione could not bear to stay at Hogwarts another day, knowing that at the end of the month she would have to leave it. Every extra day spent at the manor would only increase the pain she’d feel when it was torn from her, and with Ginny not wanting to talk to her anymore, Hermione had no incentive to remain. So she was ending the fairy-tale the only way she could: on her own terms.

“It won’t be so bad,” Hermione whispered aloud. “I was happy at Eastworth before. I can be again.”

But as the carriage trundled ever onward, she knew that there was no one left to convince except herself.


	10. An Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione decides what she wants from her future.

Hermione had been in Eastworth for barely a day before the questions started.

The first to accost her was Colin Creevey, who lived next door. He was at her side the second she set foot on the path that led past his house. “Hermione!” he called, hurrying toward her. “Wait up!”

“Hello, Colin,” she said, as unenthusiastically as she could without sounding rude. Colin barely seemed to notice.

“So—is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“You _know_ what,” said Colin. “You being an earl’s daughter, you living at an estate, you being _rich!_ Is it true?”

“Well of course it’s _true,_ Colin, did you expect my parents were lying to everyone?” Hermione snapped. Colin lit up.

_“Wow!_ What was it like? Was everything made of gold? Did you have money just lying around? I suppose that doesn’t make any sense, you probably kept it in a bank. I don’t know what rich people do.” He looked at her, awestruck. “You know, though!”

“Mhmm,” said Hermione, trying to edge around him. Colin gave her a concerned look.

“Are wealthy people terrible snobs? Were they very rude to you? If they were then they have no taste at all.”

Hermione softened. “No, they were all right. Some were...very kind.”

“So why did you leave?”

Hermione bit her lip. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, we’re glad to have you back,” said Colin, giving her a sincere smile. Hermione smiled back reluctantly.

“Thank you, Colin,” she said. “It’s nice to be back.”

She wasn’t entirely lying. Being back in Eastworth felt familiar, like shrugging on an old, well-worn coat she’d had for years. Over the next few days, the younger residents inundated her with endless questions about high society and life with the ton, while older residents gave her raised eyebrows when she walked past and occasionally made muttered whispers of “...thinks she’s too good for us now…” or something in a similar vein. Luckily for Hermione, the novelty of her temporary nobility soon wore off. She was careful not to wear her fancier dresses out in public and always met people’s eyes when she talked to them, and by the fourth week of December, most of the town seemed to have forgotten that she’d ever left at all.

Still, like an old, worn-out coat, Hermione’s life in Eastworth no longer seemed to fit quite right on her shoulders. The joy had gone out of all the things she used to do in Eastworth. She kept imagining how Ginny would make a joke out of a certain task, or what her aunt would say if she could see Hermione’s poor posture while embroidering. This feeling only became worse when the town began preparing for Christmas Day. As Hermione watched people hang holly from storefronts and erect a tree in the center of the tiny square, she imagined what her first Christmas at Hogwarts might have been like. Her aunt would probably have made her put up the decorations by magic, and she would have gotten her something knitted as a gift, maybe a scarf. The image made Hermione’s heart hurt.

_You made the right decision,_ she reminded herself. _You would’ve had that, and then it would’ve been gone, and it would hurt much worse than it does right now._

It didn’t help. Wiping at her eyes, Hermione wove her way through the singing crowds, walking aimlessly as though to outpace her thoughts. Eventually she found herself at the rim of the fountain and took a seat on the edge. As she ran her hands over the cold stone, Hermione remembered wishing on the fountain at Hogsmeade, that first week she had been at Hogwarts. Standing in the square, she had thrown her penny in and wished, almost childishly, that she would like it there.

_Be careful what you wish for,_ said a little voice in the back of her head. _For it might come true._

“Do you want a penny?” piped a small voice, interrupting her reminiscing. Hermione looked around to see a little boy standing next to her with a handful of coins. He offered her a particularly shiny one. “You can wish on it.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione, accepting. The boy smiled and turned away. Looking down at the coin, Hermione thought about how her last wish on a fountain had worked out—far too well, as though fate itself were laughing at her. But instead of tossing this coin to the ground, Hermione flipped it high into the air and let it splash into the fountain. Watching it slowly sink through the water, she could only think of one thing to wish for.

_I wish Ginny were here._

For a few moments she watched the penny glitter at the bottom of the pool and then Hermione put her head in her hands, digging her nails into her palms and trying very hard not to cry. She felt so idiotic, in tears over a coin in a fountain and a decision she herself had made, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. She was feeling very sorry for herself when suddenly she heard someone calling her name.

“Hermione!” The voice was familiar, achingly familiar, and Hermione didn’t want to look up in case she was wrong, but she couldn’t stop herself—and there she was, Ginny, rushing toward her though the crowd with her red hair streaming behind her. Hermione leaped to her feet, convinced that she was dreaming, but then Ginny slammed into her and nearly toppled them both into the fountain, and she knew it was real.

“Did I do this?” Hermione said, hardly daring to believe it.

“Do what?” Ginny asked, releasing her from her bone-breaking embrace. “Move three hundred kilometers away without telling me? Break everyone at Hogwarts’ heart? Abandon your family’s legacy? Yes, you _did_ do that.”

“I—” began Hermione, but another figure was pushing his way through the crowd as well, and Hermione’s mouth fell open at the sight of him. “What on Earth?”

“Miss Weasley, perhaps here would not be the best place,” said Draco as he reached them. Hermione looked from him to Ginny and then back to him in confusion.

“What are _you_ doing here?”

“A question I have asked myself repeatedly since we arrived,” said Draco heavily. “Ginny. We should move. We’re causing a bit of a scene.”

Hermione glanced around and winced—her companions, with their conspicuous arrival and in their obviously wealthy attire, had drawn every eye in the square. “Follow me,” she said, and pulled them away, avoiding the stares of the avid townspeople. She led Ginny and Draco past her house and down the path she usually took on walks, until they reached a covered pavilion.

“I’ll wait here,” said Draco uncomfortably, and gestured for Hermione and Ginny to go ahead. After a moment of hesitation, Hermione stepped up onto the terrace and crossed over to lean on the railing on the opposite side of the pavilion. Ginny joined her a second later, and Hermione took a deep breath.

“Before you say anything,” she said. “Know that you have every right to hate me, and I would never hold it against you if you never wanted to speak to me again after this.”

“Of course I don’t hate you,” said Ginny impatiently. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Hermione stared at her in surprise. “You don’t?”

_“No._ But I _am_ seriously annoyed with you—how could you do something like this without telling me? I had to find out from your aunt! She wrote to me while we were away last week, saying she thought I had a right to know your decision. She knows I’ve come here, by the way. Do you have any idea how sad you’ve made her?”

Hermione pressed her lips together. “I feel awful about that. I do. But you have to understand that I didn’t have a choice—”

“Yes, you did,” said Ginny emphatically. “You _chose_ not to try and fight the decision. You _chose_ to ignore your father’s wishes, _chose_ to abandon your rightful place as the heir to Gryffindor. Hogwarts needed you, and you left it. You left everyone—the servants who have been with your family for years, your aunt who loves you, and—and—”

_“What right do you have to condemn my actions?”_ snapped Hermione. “I’m sure the view is grand from your moral high horse, but I didn’t live the same life you did. My father may have wanted me to inherit Hogwarts, but he didn’t love me enough to give me a place there. I had to learn how to belong without any help and then he couldn’t even find a way to secure my right to live there. So fine, maybe I did give up, but I was only trying to cut my losses, is that so wrong? Don’t make it like I committed some ultimate betrayal. I don’t owe Hogwarts anything, my father made sure of that. I didn’t break its heart.”

“No,” said Ginny quietly. “But you broke mine.”

Hermione caught her breath. Ginny stared out into the distance, not meeting her eyes. There were several moments of strangled silence, and then Hermione said in a whisper, “I...I didn’t think...you felt the same.”

“I wasn’t sure I did,” said Ginny, after another beat. “I had never considered that I might be...that I might feel that way about...and then you kissed me.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Hermione, wringing her hands together, but Ginny caught them in her own.

“Don’t be,” she said. “I’m not.”

“But you didn’t say anything,” said Hermione. “You didn’t write…”

“What was I supposed to say? I was confused, I didn’t know what I was feeling, and by the time I had sorted things out we were leaving to go and visit Percy and I couldn’t talk to you. I did write, but by then you had already left.”

“I wish I had known that,” Hermione breathed. “I assumed...you didn’t want to see me again. I thought that I’d ruined everything.”

Ginny tightened her grip on Hermione’s hands. “Hermione, you can’t seriously think that just because I didn’t reach out to you after a _day_ that I _hated_ you.”

“I don’t know,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “I’ve been expecting you to do it. I’ve always expected you to, ever since the day I met you. This whole time I’ve been waiting for you to realize that I’m no match for you, I’m not brave like you, I’m not beautiful or bright or strong like you—”

_“Stop,”_ said Ginny so fiercely that Hermione’s mouth snapped closed. “You can’t believe that about yourself. You can’t. Look at you. You’re brilliant, and thoughtful, and determined, and measured. You’re everything I’ve never been able to be, and more.” She brought her hands up to cup Hermione’s face. “You had your entire life flipped upside down and you stayed on your feet. You faced down a whole new world and you didn’t once look away. That’s bravery. That’s strength.”

Hermione felt frozen in place, anchored by Ginny’s gaze. Ginny held her face carefully in her hands, as though she were something delicate and precious. “You _are_ beautiful,” she said. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And you _are_ bright. The brightest witch in a thousand years.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “And I love you.”

Hermione kissed her. This time Ginny kissed her back, wrapping her arms around her neck to pull them closer together. Hermione’s heart felt like it was trying to fly out of her ribcage. Every part of her was soaring, and when Ginny pulled away, Hermione thought that if she had wanted to she could have lifted up into the air. She discovered she was smiling giddily and tried to restrain herself, but Ginny was too distracted to notice. “Look!” she exclaimed, pointing over Hermione’s shoulder. “It’s snowing!”

It was indeed. Snow was showering down on them in a turrent of white, falling quickly and already beginning to stick to the grass. Ginny was beaming. “Is this you again?”

“No, it’s real snow this time,” said Hermione, but her smile began to wobble. Ginny looked back at her in concern.

“Don’t cry,” she said anxiously. “We’re supposed to be happy now!”

“I _am_ happy,” said Hermione, sniffling. “I love you so much, but the two of us, we…” She gestured between them, lost for words. “Ginny, what are we supposed to _do?”_

“That depends,” said Ginny softly, drawing back from Hermione. “What do you want to do?”

_What do you want to do?_

For the first time since she’d left Hogwarts Estate, Hermione opened her mind to that question. She knew what she had thought she _had_ to do. She knew what _others_ wanted her to do. But what was it that _she_ wanted for her life? For her love? For her home?

“Hogwarts is my home,” she said aloud. “I made it my home, I made myself a place there, it’s where I belong. It belongs to me. That’s what my father wanted even if he couldn’t manage it quite right.” She looked up, meeting Ginny’s eyes. “And you, you are my home, too. What I want—it’s to be with you. More than anything.”

“I want that too,” said Ginny simply. Hermione reached out and brushed the red hair back from her face, tracing her thumb along Ginny’s temple. For a moment, they just stood and smiled at each other as the snow whirled around them, but then Hermione’s smile faded.

“But it’s impossible,” she said. “We can’t be together _and_ have Hogwarts too…”

“Oh yes, we can,” said Ginny, her smile taking on a wicked quality. “I’ve been holding in the best part of all this.” She turned to face Draco, who was still standing outside the veranda, fervently looking everywhere but at them. “Malfoy, you can come over now,” she called. “It’s safe!”

“That took you long enough,” said Draco, hurrying up the steps and under the cover of the pavilion. He brushed snow from his white-blond hair, and Hermione held up her hands, looking at Ginny for an explanation.

“All right, I’m lost. What am I missing? Why is he here, and since when have you two been friends?”

“Since approximately forty hours ago, when we exchanged confidences of a highly personal nature,” said Ginny. “I knew I had to go after you, but my parents wouldn’t allow me to take the carriage, said it wasn’t any of our business. So I went to the only other person I thought would care whether or not you stayed at Hogwarts.”

Hermione stared at Draco. “You?”

“No, my maid,” said Draco. “Yes, obviously me.”

“And you can help us...how?”

“As Miss Weasley and I learned yesterday, the three of us have interests in common,” said Draco. “Namely, getting married to someone of the opposite sex without love involved.”

“Why would you want to marry me without love?” Hermione wanted to know. Draco glanced at Ginny, who gestured for him to say something. Draco sighed and put his hands in the pockets of his overcoat.

“I love another,” he said. “You may know him.”

“Him?” Hermione repeated, staring at him in shock. Then she gasped. “Not Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, it does seem sort of obvious when you think about it, doesn’t it?” said Ginny. “I couldn’t believe I hadn’t put it together before.”

“You didn’t know?” said Hermione. Ginny shook her head.

“All I knew was that Lord Malfoy seemed to enjoy your presence, and I thought that might be enough. If he married you, it’d add to his wealth, and obviously you’d have no designs on him, so he would have no duty toward you. Things worked out even better than I imagined,” said Ginny, giving Draco a wry smile. “I’d assumed you were committed to the life of bachelorhood because you didn’t like people, not because you didn’t like ladies.”

“Both are true,” replied Draco, giving her a half-smile. Hermione glanced between them, delighted to see them getting along. Then her mind caught up to what Ginny had said.

“You wish to marry me?”

Draco cleared his throat. “Yes.”

Hermione tilted her head to the side, studying his face. “Why?” she asked. “Not that I am not flattered, but why bother? You do not need my wealth, and being a bachelor is much more accepted than being a spinster. There is no real benefit for you here. Do you truly like me that much?”

“Yes,” said Draco. “Lady Hermione...when I first met you, I thought you were beneath me in every way.”

Hermione made an indignant sound, but Draco held up his hand to stop her and went on. “I have since come to see that you are far superior. My conversations with you suggest that you are at least as smart as I am, and probably smarter. If I am to have a wife, she should be my equal, and I believe that you are. I do not love you, but I find you interesting, and I think there is much you may teach me about how to be a better person.” He met her eyes. “Something I am still trying to learn.”

Hermione was touched. When she found her voice again, she tried to keep it steady. “I would be glad to do so. Thank you. So much.” She took Ginny’s hand again. “From both of us.”

“Do not mention it,” said Draco. “Just know that I intend to spend much of my time at Malfoy Manor, my ancestral home. If my wife desires to live mainly at _her_ family home, perhaps with a companion, well, that is a very common arrangement. And I am sure she would not mind the frequent visits to my house of our mutual friend, Mr. Potter.”

“She would not,” said Hermione. “It is a perfect arrangement.” She held out her free hand to him, and he took it.

“It’s a deal.”

“Yes, wonderful,” said Ginny. “Malfoy, we love you and we thank you. But we can’t afford to waste any more time. Hermione has to be officially engaged by the new year.”

“But that’s not to worry,” said Hermione. “It’s still December. I don’t know what day exactly, but—”

“Hermione,” said Ginny. _“It’s Christmas Eve.”_

Hermione looked from Ginny, to Draco, to the open road beyond them. “Well then,” she said. “I suppose we had better run.”


	11. An Earlena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A triumphant return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> earl - a rank of the nobility in Britain. the title originates in the Old English word eorl, meaning "a man of noble birth or rank". feminine form: countess, or archaically, earlena.

By the time they reached the carriage, the snow had begun to come down in earnest, falling in thick sheets and blanketing the ground in a coat of white. Hermione and Ginny clung to each other’s gloved hands as they ran together ahead of Draco, giggling whenever one of them slipped or skidded on the slick ground. Hermione’s laughter cut short, however, when they came to a halt and saw how much snow had already piled on top of the coach. She looked toward the sky and bit her lip.

“Do you think there’s any chance of this stopping?”

Ginny shook her head, Hermione’s anxiety mirrored across her own face. “See it way it’s coming down? I’d bet it won’t stop till morning at least,” she said. “We can’t ride in this. Never mind that the carriage will be ruined, there’s soon to be no seeing through this storm.”

Hermione wrung her hands. “What are we going to do? These things can last days, and we don’t have days, not with the time it’s going to take to settle things with my solicitors and draw up a marriage contract.”

“Are we not witches?” said Ginny, reaching into her coat and pulling out her wand. “I’m sure there’s a spell that can—”

“Ginny, stop!” said Draco as he finally reached them. “Have you _lost_ your mind? We can’t do magic here, we’re in a Muggle town! It was a huge risk even bringing the carriage!”

“The carriage?” said Hermione, then shook herself. “Right. No horses. Magic carriage.”

“Yes, _magic,”_ said Draco. “I don’t know about you, Ginny, but I don’t fancy being prosecuted for breaking the Statute of Secrecy—or worse, burned at the stake like our grandparents’ contemporaries—”

“Don’t go all dramatic,” said Ginny. “That doesn’t happen anymore. Besides, no one is around to see anything.”

“Hermione’s parents—”

“Hermione’s parents aren’t going to tell anyone! She’s their daughter, they aren’t going to endanger her! Once we get things settled they’ll come live with her anyway. _If_ we get things settled, that is, seeing as you seem intent on us being trapped here till the new year—”

“Hush, Ginny,” said Hermione, drawing her coat closer to her. The wind was bracing, and her teeth were beginning to chatter. “Let’s not argue. Draco, can’t we just this one time—?”

“No, we quite literally _can’t,”_ he said. “Ginny, clearly, hasn’t read the Statute of Secrecy, which states that doing magic within the bounds of a Muggle residence unless defending oneself or on official business is _illegal._ They can trace it.”

“So, what?” said Hermione, teeth chattering ever harder. “We just freeze to death out here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Draco. “What we’ll have to do is Apparate.”

“I can’t Apparate,” said Hermione and Ginny at the same time. Hermione looked at Ginny, who made a face.

“When you fail the test five times, they make you wait six months to take it again.”

_“Five_ times?”

“I’m very determined, but not very deliberate, apparently.”

“Well, _I_ can Apparate,” said Draco. “Passed my test on the first try, as it happens. And Apparition within the bounds of a Muggle town _is_ legal as long as no one sees you, in case one needs a quick escape, which we obviously do.”

“Can you really Apparate all three of us?” said Ginny, giving him a skeptical look. “I do not want Hermione getting Splinched. Or myself, for that matter. Or, I suppose, you.”

“I thank you for your touching concern, but I’ll be fine,” said Draco. “As long as you hold on _very tightly.”_

Hermione didn’t need further prompting. She reached out and clamped her hand onto Draco’s arm. The snow was pouring down so thickly now it was hard to see clearly, but she felt Ginny wrap her arms around her waist. Hermione screwed her eyes shut tightly.

“All right,” she said. “Do it.”

There was a _crack,_ and Hermione gasped as the world was ripped away from her. She felt as though she were being squeezed, pushed, and pulled all at once, Ginny’s hold on her and hers on Draco the only things tethering her to reality. After another few seconds of this uncomfortable sensation, there was another _crack_ and they reappeared—

—in thin air.

Hermione’s eyes flew open and she just managed to catch hold of the chandelier before she and Ginny plummeted to the ground. Draco was not so lucky. They’d materialized twelve feet above the floor of the Hogwarts dining hall, and Draco would have fallen all of them if he hadn’t been holding his wand in his free hand and had the presence of mind to shout a Cushioning Charm. The upheaval he caused when he landed was still resplendent, however, as he managed to fall onto the dining table and then roll off of it, dragging the tablecloth, china, and silverware with him.

“What in Merlin’s name is _going on in here?”_ shouted a familiar voice, and Hermione’s aunt burst into the room before stopping dead in her tracks. The sight that greeted her was chaotic indeed—Draco, tangled in the tablecloth on the floor and cursing vehemently, Ginny, clinging to Hermione’s waist, and Hermione herself, holding onto the chandelier for all she was worth and trying very hard not to look down.

“Hermione?” gasped her aunt.

“Hello, Aunt McGonagall,” said Hermione breathlessly. She steeled herself and then looked down at her aunt, who was staring up at her in shock. “Guess what?” she said. “I’m engaged!”

  


Half an hour later, Hermione sat in her aunt’s rooms, wrapped in several blankets and clutching a cup of hot cocoa in her hands. Draco and Ginny had been sent home to their respective households, and her aunt was pacing around the room, eyes bright and looking as alive as Hermione had ever seen her. “This is perfect,” she said, for what seemed to be the twentieth time. “Perfect! Oh, Dolores’ face when she learns…”

“Let’s not look too far ahead,” said Hermione anxiously. “You’ll jinx it.”

“I’m a witch—we’re supposed to jinx things,” said her aunt. “I can imagine it now. Half the area is coming to our Christmas feast, they think it’s some kind of farewell party, the last hurrah of the McGonagalls. In all fairness, before you arrived, that’s exactly what it was.” She turned to face Hermione. “Oh, my dear, I am so glad to have you back. I did not realize how empty this house felt without you here until you returned.”

“I felt empty too,” said Hermione. “I am so sorry to have left the way I did.”

“Do not be,” said her aunt. “I understand exactly why you did it. What matters is you’ve come back, and you’re going to take your rightful place here, as I always knew you would. Tomorrow will not be a day of mourning. It shall be a day of joy.”

Hermione smiled, taking another sip of cocoa. When she lowered the cup, she paused. “Aunt McGonagall,” she said. “What we have told you, about my and Draco’s arrangement...that is to say, the circumstances of our engagement, or I suppose I should say…” She took a deep breath. “You understand? About Ginny and I? You...don’t mind?”

“Mind?” said her aunt. “My dear, I am delighted.” She crossed the room and put her hands on Hermione’s shoulders. “All I want is for you to be here, and for you to be happy. I am so proud that you have found a way to do both. And I could not approve more of your choice.”

Hermione’s eyes welled with tears. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’ve had a taxing day,” said her aunt, pushing her hair back from her face. “Go upstairs and sleep. Tomorrow is Christmas Day, and our Christmas feast. Tomorrow…” She raised her arm, as though holding an imaginary sword. “We battle.”

  


When Hermione awoke, Hogwarts greeted her with all the fanfare one might expect for a visit from the Queen. The candles soared to impossible heights, dancing along the walls. The wallpaper changed from pink to yellow to sky blue, clouds drifting across the ceiling. The portrait people waved and cheered from their frames, racing along after her as she dashed down the halls. The manor was alive, and so was Hermione. She felt like jumping up and down, like dancing. She felt like she could do anything.

“My lady?” A voice from down the hall.

“Lavender!” Hermione exclaimed, and threw her arms around her lady’s maid. Lavender patted her on the back.

“I’m glad to see you too,” she said. “Please let me breathe.”

Hermione pulled back. “Lavender, it is of the utmost importance that I look beautiful today,” she said. “Breathtakingly beautiful. Bewitchingly beautiful. So beautiful that no one, even Dolores Umbridge, can find fault with me. Do you think you can do that?”

“Lady Hermione, it’s what I was born for,” said Lavender, and steered her into her room without further ado.

Getting Hermione ready was an hour-long affair. Her hair had to be tamed, her makeup to be done, and then her figure squeezed into the loveliest dress she and Lavender could find. Lavender discarded many as they went— “too scandalous,” “not scandalous enough,” “not Christmas enough,” “horrendous,” and “should be burned,” were just a few of her epithets. Eventually, Hermione’s aunt looked in on them and noticed their dilemma. She returned a few minutes later carrying a green garment over her arm.

“Was this my mother’s?” Hermione asked, as Lavender held it out and nodded approvingly. Her aunt shook her head.

“No, it was mine.”

“Then it is perfect,” said Hermione, and shrugged the fabric over her head.

Now was the time when Muggles would go to church, but wizarding tradition celebrated Christmas differently. Instead of praying, Hermione and her aunt rolled up their sleeves and set to decorating the manor for the Christmas feast. “Flick your wrist,” Hermione’s aunt reminded her, as she conjured garlands from thin air and Hermione directed them around the chandelier. “Yes, just like that.”

“It looks even better than I imagined,” said Hermione, standing back to take in the full effect. “We shall dazzle everyone quite thoroughly.”

“I should hope so,” said her aunt. “We’d better keep these up until February, considering the effort I’ve put in.”

The delicious aroma of the coming feast was soon wafting through the halls, and Hermione would have been content to sit in the kitchen and watch the food being prepared for several hours had she not heard someone pounding at the door. “If it isn’t my favorite heathen,” she said, throwing open the doors to embrace Ginny. “What are you doing here so early? Don’t you know it’s best to be fashionably late?”

“You’re worth any social faux pas,” Ginny promised her.

“I’m surprised your mother let you out of the house after you ran away with Draco to come rescue me.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t have, but my father convinced her. He got very moony-eyed about young love once I explained everything. He can’t wait to get to know you better. Mum’s less enthusiastic, but she’ll come around in time. She’ll love you—every sensible person in the world does.”

“You’re making me blush,” said Hermione, pretending to fan her face. Ginny waggled her eyebrows.

“I can make you do more than blush if you like—”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” came Hermione’s aunt’s voice from the other room, and then Ginny was the one who blushed. “Miss Weasley, come make yourself useful and help us finish preparations.”

“Yes madam,” said Ginny, hurrying over. Hermione couldn’t help but laugh.

As the afternoon slipped into evening, more and more guests began arriving. Luna Lovegood showed up wearing a sparkling silver dress and tugging her father behind her. Draco stopped by to greet Hermione before retreating upstairs away from the crowd. After a swarm of her aunt’s acquaintances came through, taking it in turns to admire her gown and comment on her posture, Hermione went looking for her aunt.

“Dearest aunt,” she said, catching the older woman’s sleeve as she passed by. “Exactly how many people did you invite to this feast?”

“Well, word got around,” said her aunt. “Some are here out of friendship, some out of duty, some out of good regard for our family, and some have likely come only for the drama...we’ll show them, won’t we?”

Hermione hummed in vague agreement, distracted by the arrival of the Weasleys, including a few brothers she hadn’t yet met. Ginny introduced her around, Ron giving her a wink and Mr. Weasley a firm handshake. “From everything Ginny’s told me, I feel as though I already know you well,” he said. “But I am delighted to begin to know you better.”

“I feel the same,” said Hermione sincerely.

Once the Weasleys had dispersed, Hermione was greeted by a familiar face: Harry. He gave her an awkward wave. “Lady Hermione, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to be seen,” she responded. “Our mutual friend has taken shelter in the library, if you two need to talk.”

Harry gave her a relieved look. “Thanks,” he told her, and hurried away, leaving Hermione alone with Harry’s silver-haired grandfather, who was inspecting her aunt’s decorations with a quietly impressed air.

“Hello, sir,” Hermione said tentatively. Harry’s grandfather turned his electric blue gaze on her.

“My dear, I fear we have not yet been introduced,” he said. “I am Albus Dumbledore. I know, of course, who you are.”

“Everyone does,” sighed Hermione. Mr. Dumbledore laughed.

“True enough, but as it happens, I know you for another reason,” he said. “Through your father, Irving.”

“Oh yes,” said Hermione, suddenly remembering the searching way Mr. Dumbledore had looked at her all those weeks ago at the Peverell ball. “I think I knew that.”

“You are very like him,” said Mr. Dumbledore. “You carry yourself in the same way. I think you will be a worthy heiress of the Gryffindor title.”

Hermione blinked. They were saving the engagement announcement for later in the night—how could he know she was to inherit after all? But before she could ask, Mr. Dumblefore turned into the crowd and was gone.

“Lady Hermione,” came a surprised voice, and, distracted, she looked around to see Mr. Lupin. “I did not expect to see you here! I thought you had returned to Eastworth after…?”

“I did, but I came back for Christmas,” said Hermione, giving him a neat curtsey. “Hello, Mr. Longbottom.”

“You should call me Neville,” Mr. Longbottom responded miserably. “I think you’ve earned that. We did take your home away from you.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Hermione said lightly. “Things work out the way they’re meant to. I am very glad to see both of you here.”

“That’s gracious of you,” said Mr. Lupin, nodding to her. Hermione pursed her lips.

“Although, if you two are here, I suppose that means…”

“Why, Miss Granger,” came a voice from behind her. Wincing, Hermione turned to see Miss Umbridge, wearing a poisonous-pink dress and a sadistic smile. “What on Earth are you doing here?”

“This is still my home,” said Hermione. “You cannot evict me.”

“Yet,” purred Miss Umbridge. Hermione forced a smile.

“Indeed.”

Miss Umbridge glanced at Hermione’s gown, poised to give a scathing comment, but then deflated slightly as she took in the full effect. She made a small huffing sound and then wandered away to the table of refreshments. Hermione smirked, reminding herself to thank Lavender later. “Are you ready, my dear?” said Hermione’s aunt, appearing behind her. Hermione took the older woman by the arm.

“More than ready,” she promised. “Let’s lead them in.”

When they were all in the dining hall, Hermione took her seat at her aunt’s right hand and gazed down the long table in awe. Hogwarts was twice as full as she had ever seen it, almost every seat in the hall occupied. As she watched, her aunt cleared her throat loudly and waved her wand in a graceful arc. The tin coverings on the food were whisked away and scattered applause broke out at the reveal of the first course.

“Friends, the McGonagalls are honored by your presence tonight,” said her aunt. “There will be words later. For now, we feast!”

“I cannot eat,” Hermione whispered to her aunt as everyone dug in. “I won’t be able to keep it down.”

“Don’t be nervous,” her aunt reproved her. “At least have some stuffing. It’s very good.”

Hermione picked at the heaping she’d been served, but her stomach was roiling too much to even consider putting it in her mouth. On her other side, Luna nudged her. “You should try some dirigible plums,” she said. “They clear the head. And they’re very good.”

Hermione gave a skeptical glance to the orange fruit, but took a bite out of sheer politeness. Shockingly enough, the taste wasn’t bad, and she did feel a little less sick. “Thank you, Luna,” she said. The other girl nodded cheerily.

“Of course. You should try Gurdyroots sometime. Maybe next time you’re at Rook Place.”

Hermione made a noncommittal noise and quickly engaged Harry, who sat across from her, in conversation.

All too soon, the meal was over, and people began to look expectantly toward the head of the table. Rising from her chair once more, Hermione’s aunt Vanished the remains of the food on people’s plates. Then, she tapped her fork against her glass, gaining the attention of those still chatting with their neighbors.

“Now is the time when I would normally reminisce upon the season,” she said. “But I am grown old, and can no longer be bothered.” There were titters. “Instead, I leave that duty to my niece, the Lady Hermione Granger.” Turning to Hermione, she said under her breath: “Take it away, dear.”

Hermione pushed back her chair, wincing at the screeching sound it made as the legs dragged against the floor. Everyone’s face was turned expectantly towards her, and for a moment she felt the same urge she’d felt when she’d first arrived at Hogwarts, the desire to run, to leave everything behind. But then she caught sight of Ginny, sitting halfway down the table, and drew strength from her gaze.

“Most of you know me by now,” she began. “You know me by my father’s name, or my aunt’s. Some of you know me by my own. Most of you also know how I came to be here, and what I have done since I arrived. For those of you who are still curious...and if I’ve learned anything here, it’s that _all_ of you are still curious...allow me to summarize a few things.

“When I first came to this estate, I was a girl from the country, and I remain a girl from the country to this day. But, during my time here at Hogwarts, I have also become a lady. I know there are those who would say these two things cannot and should not be allowed to coexist.” Hermione shot a glance at Miss Umbridge, who looked deeply disapproving. “I believe the opposite. It is my roots that have let me grow strong here, at Hogwarts. My previous life has helped me put this one into perspective, and I am forever grateful for that.

“I have learned much while I have lived here. I have learned manners hand in hand with magic. My aunt has taught me both. Her kindness to me has built a debt I will spend the rest of my life repaying.” Hermione smiled at her aunt, who pressed her lips together, eyes glistening slightly. “And there is another who has taught me the ways of this world as well, who has kept me grounded in place. I intend to pay my debt to them as well.”

Whispers rebounded around the room as people glanced from Hermione to the several young men also in the hall. Hermione kept her gaze steady, not glancing at Ginny. She would know the words were meant for her.

“But it is not solely these people who have helped me through the season. It is also the house in which we gather tonight. Hogwarts has welcomed me, accepted me, and become part of me in ways that are hard to enunciate. It represents all I have wanted, and all I have earned. It represents the magical inheritance I did not know I had. And it represents the world in which all of us live, a world I am so glad to be part of.”

It was getting harder for Hermione to speak now, her throat thick with tears. Swallowing them back, she looked around the room, surprised to see that the faces turned toward her were full of compassion—all except one. Hermione took a deep breath and leveled her gaze directly at Miss Umbridge as she spoke her final words. “So thank you all for celebrating in this place that is so beloved to me,” she said. “I look forward to seeing all of you here _next year.”_

It worked perfectly. Miss Umbridge rose from her seat, pointing a finger at Hermione. _“You_ won’t be here next year!” she exclaimed. “You’ll be back in your backwater town where you belong. You have no place in this world you speak of. You are nothing but a bastard.”

There were gasps, but Hermione ignored them. Instead she tilted her head up and squared her shoulders. “Bastard I am, and shall remain,” she said. “But I’m afraid you’re wrong about the rest. I _do_ belong here, and I _will_ be staying.” She turned to the hall and held out her left hand, which glittered with the engagement ring Draco had passed to her earlier that evening. “I sincerely hope all of you will congratulate Lord Malfoy and I on our engagement.”

“What?!” spluttered Miss Umbridge, but she was drowned out as their guests burst into gasps, applause, and a tide of well-wishes. Draco rose from his seat and came around the table, standing next to Hermione and putting his hand on her shoulder. Harry and Ginny both applauded louder. “This cannot be valid!” Miss Umbridge said. “Lupin! Longbottom!”

Neville was clapping along with the rest of the party, but Mr. Lupin stood, a smile on his face. “The Lady Hermione Granger has accorded with her father’s wishes, and with the law of the land,” he said. “Once a marriage contract has been drawn up, she and Lord Malfoy shall inherit Hogwarts Estate.”

At his words, there was a sudden uproar, and as the dining hall’s picture frames crowded with people Hermione realized the portrait occupants were cheering for her. Fuming, Miss Umbridge spun on her heel and stormed out. As she went, one of the floorboards shot up and nearly tripped her, and the door batted her forward as she walked through it, as though even Hogwarts were glad to see her go.

“Let us have music!” someone called, and a moment later the sounds of instruments being played began to ring through the halls, a Christmas tune Hermione didn’t recognize. She caught Mr. Dumbledore’s eye and noticed he was directing his wand underneath the table. He gave her a wink as people began to sing.

“Hermione,” said a voice from beside her, and Hermione turned to see Draco, Ginny, and Harry. She resisted the urge to throw her arms around them and instead grasped Ginny’s hand tightly in hers. “We did it!”

“We did it,” said Ginny, smiling ear to ear. “We’re getting married!”

“Actually, _we’re_ getting married,” Draco corrected, pointing between himself and Hermione.

“I thought _we_ were getting married?” Harry inquired to Draco.

“Now when did I agree to that?” Draco said, wrinkling his nose. They all laughed.

“I don’t care who marries who, as long as it means I get to see all of you all the time for the rest of my life,” said Hermione.

“I think that one’s a guarantee,” said Ginny.

“Ahem,” came a voice, and Hermione’s aunt took her by the arm. “May I borrow my niece for a moment?”

“Of course,” said Harry. “I was just going to convince Ginny to play a solo piece for us on the pianoforte.”

“Only if you duet with me,” said Ginny, pulling him and Draco away. That left Hermione alone with her aunt.

“Are you proud of me?” Hermione asked. Her aunt smiled.

“Always, my dear. In fact, it is partially because I am so proud of you that I wish to take you where I am about to take you.”

“And where is that?”

“Come with me.”

Hermione’s aunt led her away from the singing, celebrating crowd and down a long corridor. Hermione followed without question, curious to see what her aunt had to show her. Before long, she began to recognize the passages they were taking. “Aunt McGonagall,” she began. “Are you…?”

“Here we are,” said her aunt. She stopped before they could take the next turn and took Hermione by the shoulders. “I know this is long overdue. At first I could not show you because we did not know you were a witch, but even when we discovered you were, I withheld it from you, for I wished for you to be _certain_ that you belonged here before you could see. And I wanted you to be ready. You have proven tonight that you are.”

Hermione could not speak, but she didn’t have to. Her aunt took her by the arm and stepped with her into the new corridor. The candle sconces along the walls were lit with merry brightness, illuminating the hanging canvases, the frames of which were no longer empty. Instead, strangely familiar faces stared back at Hermione, waving and smiling and dabbing at their eyes. It was the portrait hall.

“Wow,” Hermione breathed, staring around at her long-lost family. Almost everywhere she looked, she recognized something of herself. That wizard had her curls. That witch, her nose. As she walked further down the corridor, Hermione spotted a man with a gentle smile whose eyes were fixed not on her, but her aunt. The name beneath his portrait read _Lachlan._

Finally, Hermione reached the end of the hall, where the final, most recent portrait hung, shrouded in shadow. As she approached, the darkness washed away and she saw her own eyes staring back at her from the face of a gray-haired man. _Irving,_ read the name beneath the frame.

“Father,” she said quietly.

“Hermione,” he replied. For several seconds there was silence, and then he spoke again. “There is so much...so much I would say to you. So much to explain. So much to apologize for.”

Hermione was mute. Her father went on. “I know you may not wish to listen to my words at all. I understand. You owe me nothing. But I wish for you to know how proud of you I am, and that I do not regret anything about you or your life, except that I was not in it.”

Hermione found her voice. “I am willing to listen. To all of it. To everything.”

Her father lit up with a smile—Hermione’s own smile, mirrored back to her on a different face. “Well then,” he said. “I should first begin by telling you what I ought to have said to you many weeks ago. Lady Hermione Granger-McGonagall, heiress to Hogwarts, Earlena of Gryffindor... _welcome home.”_


	12. An Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year later.

The sound of wedding bells was still echoing around in Hermione’s head when she arrived back at Hogwarts an hour after leaving the church. Giving a friendly wave-off to Sir Cadogan as he took the carriage around to the stables, she hurried up the steps of her manor and swept open the doors. Taking the stairs to her room two at a time, she barely had a moment to pick up her hairbrush and look in the mirror before the clock downstairs began to chime the hour. “Merlin’s wand,” Hermione muttered, throwing the brush back down and rushing out of her room again.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” came a voice when she reached the bottom of the stairs, and Hermione looked around to see that her father had occupied one of the portraits hanging in the entrance hall. She smiled at him.

“I’m late for my wedding.”

“Now my dear, I may be much mistaken, but wasn’t your wedding sometime last spring?” said her father. “I seem to remember a lot of fuss and white dresses…”

“Very funny,” said Hermione. “I meant my _real_ wedding.”

“I know what you meant,” said her father. “It’s been a busy day in the life of the Duchess of Malfoy, hmm?”

“Every day is a busy day in the life of the Duchess of Malfoy. Who knew dukes had so many responsibilities? I don’t know how Draco’s poor, dear father managed.”

“Draco’s poor, dear father hated you.”

“True,” said Hermione. “I think dying of diphtheria was a form of revenge on me, honestly. Still, I must say that I’m doing rather well as dual duchess and countess, even with balancing the management of Hogwarts along with my husband’s estate.”

“You’re doing splendidly,” said her father. Hermione sketched a curtsey.

“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Off with you then,” said her father. “It won’t do to keep her waiting.”

“It certainly won’t,” said Hermione, and, with a final wave to her father’s portrait, stepped outside the manor once more. The afternoon was crisp and clear, just beginning to shift into evening. Hermione had always found it easier to Apparate outdoors, and, as she drew in a deep breath of fresh air, she didn’t even bother to consider that she might end up hanging from a chandelier this time. In a whirl of skirts, she vanished…

...and reappeared with a _crack!_ in a forest clearing. Hermione barely had time to admire the tranquil surroundings before a voice called out from her right.

“I can’t believe you’re late to _our wedding!”_

Hermione turned to see Ginny sitting on the mossy ground, arms crossed in pretend annoyance. Beaming, she took a seat in front of her.

“In all fairness, you only proposed to me this morning.”

“Actually, I proposed to you a year ago,” said Ginny. “Or do you not remember agreeing to marry Draco Malfoy just so that you could be with me for the rest of time?”

“Be at _Hogwarts_ for the rest of time,” Hermione corrected, then laughed at Ginny’s expression. “Of course I remember. However, it wasn’t _then_ but _this morning_ when you told me, and I quote, ‘What if we said vows in the forest tonight after I got back from marrying the man your husband is sleeping with?’ So forgive me if I wasn’t completely prepared for this moment.”

“I don’t think I said it quite like that,” said Ginny. “It was much more romantic in my head.”

“I’m sure,” said Hermione. “You look lovely, by the way.”

Ginny’s wedding gown was far simpler than Hermione’s had been a year ago, but to Hermione’s eye she was far more beautiful. An hour earlier, Ginny had wed Harry at the church, completing the chain of marriages of convenience Hermione and Draco had begun last spring. Now, the new bride and groom were ostensibly spending their wedding night together at Peverell—but the four of them, as well as a select few members of their families, knew who was _really_ spending the night with whom.

“So,” said Ginny, smoothing out her wedding gown. “I hope you’ve prepared some sort of speech about my greatness.”

“As a matter of fact, I _have,”_ said Hermione. “I was thinking of it the entire carriage ride home, and it was a very long ride. One of the horses threw a shoe. That’s why I’m late, by the way. It’s a magnificent speech.”

“That sounded like a challenge.”

“You think everything sounds like a challenge.”

“Fair enough,” said Ginny, grinning. “All right. Deliver it to me.”

“You have to stand up,” said Hermione, pulling Ginny to her feet. They held hands across the open space between them. Night was swiftly falling, and crickets had begun to chirp in the woods. Ginny had picked the perfect spot; they were enclosed by trees but not surrounded, with miles and miles of sky above them. It felt like they were in a fairy realm, like they had stepped out of time for a moment.

“Ginny Molly Weasley,” Hermione began. “I have been in love with you ever since I was twenty-one and you taught me ballroom dancing. That day, I sat and watched you play the piano and I thought it was impossible that anyone could shine as brightly as you do, that anyone could be so full of life as you are. I was right. You’re the most brilliant person I’ll ever know, and I love you so much more now than I did then, it is almost incomparable.

“I cannot marry you in the eyes of the law, but I can promise you, here and now, that I will be by your side forever. You lift me up, you make me braver and stronger and brighter. I can’t imagine my life without you and I never want to. Marrying you is the best decision I’ll ever make, and I would make it again, a thousand times, in a thousand lives. I love you.”

“This is unfair,” said Ginny, when Hermione finished talking. _“You’re_ the brilliant one, not me! How am I supposed to match up to that? It was so beautiful!”

“You don’t have to match up,” said Hermione, laughing. “I might have gotten a bit carried away. You know how I am with words.”

“I do,” said Ginny. “It’s part of what I love about you. How you feel so deeply about things, and how you talk so intensely about them. I love to listen to you when you do that.”

“Good, because I’m not sure anyone else would,” said Hermione.

“We’ll never find out, because you’re stuck with me forever,” said Ginny. “All right. What are the rest of the vows?”

“Darling, you just said them an hour ago.”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” said Ginny. “It wasn’t important then. It starts with something about a ring, I know that. We already have rings for other people, so…” She bent and picked one of the flowers that bloomed at their feet, a violet, and presented it to Hermione. “With this flower, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship. With all my worldly goods, I thee endow.”

Hermione accepted the violet and tucked it behind her ear. “There. We’re married. Simple as that.”

“Simple as that,” Ginny repeated, pulling her close and kissing her. “Now, this wedding dress is actually quite uncomfortable. I could use some help getting out of it.”

“I think I may be able to offer my services,” said Hermione, tucking her wife’s hair behind her ear. “But first, aren’t we supposed to share a dance?”

“How could I forget?” said Ginny. She stepped back and put one hand on Hermione’s waist. Hermione clasped the other in hers, and they stepped together in perfect unison. Ginny hummed in her ear, the same tune she had taught Hermione when they first danced together those many months ago. As Hermione twirled across the forest clearing with her wife, spinning and dipping and laughing, she thought that she never wanted this moment to end.

And maybe it never had to, she decided. After all, they had all the time in the world. They could dance together for the rest of their lives if they wanted.

And so, in fact, they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story owes its life to the following people:
> 
> Anyone who has ever made a blog post about life in the Regency. I have read it, and it was very helpful.
> 
> Dodie, for “Cool Girl,” and Breton, for “Got Well Soon.”
> 
> Jane Austen, for obvious reasons.
> 
> And most of all, [alexanderavery998.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanderavery998) NaNoWriMo gave me an excuse to start this story. You gave me a reason to finish. Love you, A.


End file.
